Forgivable Expectations
by Jubilee3
Summary: Being a Slytherin is tough work these days. With the war brewing around her, Pansy has to deal with inner-house politics, unexpected rivals, and an undesired attraction to Dean Thomas. Includes an artistic Snape and a French Draco.
1. Unbidden Hopes

**Disclaimer:** All of the characters that you recognize in this fic belong to J.K. Rowling, and anyone else who has the power to throw a law suite at me.

**Special Note:** The purpose of starting this fic was mainly to give a different voice to Pansy Parkinson. With some exceptions, she has largely been portrayed as a brainless wench, with no purpose other than to scheme her way after Draco Malfoy and to cause any other character that might show an interest in him some annoyance. I'm going on the hope that all characters can have hidden depth.

**Warning:** This fic was started before Order of the Phoenix came out and before J.K. Rowling confirmed that Blaise Zabini is indeed male. Also, Alyssa Nott was created before Theodore Nott was introduced into canon. So, FE remains respectfully AU.

**Forgivable Expectations**

**Chapter 1: Unbidden Hopes**

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends—_ The Sorting Hat_ in_ _Sorcerer's Stone_.

_"Men will always be mad and those who think they can cure them are the maddest of all."—_ Voltaire.

**

* * *

**

_Memo to Self: Get New Friends._

Pansy stared down at the note that she had just jotted down. Words of wisdom if she'd ever heard any.

Nodding to herself, she stuffed the slip of paper into her pocket, along with all of the other strips of parchment that had built up over the course of the day.

"Ugh. What is she wearing?" Alyssa Nott scoffed.

Pansy sighed and went back to listening absently as her friends berated anyone and everyone who made the mistake of coming too close, or had the misfortune of crossing one of their minds.

The current target: _Hannah Abbott_.

"Can you believe that she still wears her hair like that?" Blaise Zabini sneered. "It was bad enough during first year, but it's downright pathetic for a seventh year to wear pigtails."

They all nodded their heads in automatic agreement, and Blaise sat back in satisfaction.

Pansy held back a yawn, and pretended to study her nails. This was an all too familiar routine. "Yeah, and her teeth are almost as bad as Granger's used to be," she contributed, hoping that this comment would be enough to allow her to remain silent throughout the rest of this meeting of Slytherin's queen bitches.

She really had no idea what kind of teeth the unfortunate Abbott had, but it really didn't matter.

As if to prove her point, the girls all nodded again in unison.

"Have you seen the way that she drools over Justin Finch-Fletchley?"Alyssa added. "It's disgusting."

More nods.

"Didn't you use to have a thing for him?" Raquel Briggs asked in a syrupy voice, the question directed at Millicent Bulstrode, who instantly turned pink.

"No!" she protested.

"So you _didn't_ write him that revolting poem in fifth year?" Raquel asked mockingly.

Ah, not that damned poem again.

Pansy shook her head and began assorting her dinner into a landscape. Hannah Abbott was already forgotten in favor of more immediate prey. It hadn't taken long for them to start turning on each other. Pretty soon Pansy was going to have to start coming to meals armed.

Millicent began to fiddle with her skirt, looking both guilty and mortified. "Poem?" she said faintly, failing to sound innocent.

Raquel shook her head in disgust. "Yes, that's right. Poem. If I recall correctly, Finch-Fletchley showed it to his entire Hufflepuff year. They all got a good laugh in at it, didn't they?"

Genuine distress became evident on Millicent's face at the reminder of her great humiliation. For a moment, Pansy worried that the girl was actually going to cry in front of them. She hoped that Millicent wouldn't hand over such damning ammo to her _friends_. Raquel would never leave her alone if Millicent broke down now.

Raquel chuckled darkly, looking quite amused. "Why don't you quote us a line, Bulstrode? Come on. How did it go? _Your brown eyes are like the richest chocolates_..." Raquel laughed cruelly.

Pansy had always been fascinated by the way that her fellow Slytherins always reverted to calling each other by their last names whenever they were tearing into each other. She was rather curious to know if the members of the other houses had similar patterns like theirs, or if it was an idiosyncrasy belonging only to them.

Millicent sent a pleading look around at the other girls, which was ignored. Pansy kept her eyes downcast. The girl really should have known better by now.

Realizing that she was on her own, Millicent tried her best to defend herself. "I didn't..." she tried again.

"Didn't what?" Alyssa chimed in, selecting a large piece of chocolate cake for herself. "Didn't expect him to show his _girlfriend_? Honestly. You're pathetic, Bulstrode."

Okay, enough was enough. Picking on Millicent was unwarranted to begin with, but two-on-one was just unfair.

"I didn't write that poem," Millicent grumbled, now blinking furiously.

Alyssa and Raquel snickered rudely. "Yeah, right."

"Of course you didn't," Pansy said smoothly, coming unexpectedly to Millicent's rescue.

The other girls looked at her in surprise, and Pansy continued. "What respective Slytherin would write a poem for a _Hufflepuff_? A Muggle-born one, no less. Nobody really believes that you wrote it," she lied, giving Alyssa and Raquel pointed looks. "Isn't that right?"

They shut up and Millicent sent her a confused, albeit grateful, look. Pansy merely shrugged at her. She didn't care if Millicent fancied a Muggle- born, but the girl really should have been smarter about keeping that little tidbit out of the hands of her roommates if she couldn't handle the punishment.

"Speaking of pathetic crushes," Blaise drawled, eyeing Pansy meanly. "Any new developments with our favorite Slytherin, Parkinson?"

Ah, crap.

Pansy felt her stomach clench at the insinuation, but she struggled to keep her face impassive. She never should have opened her mouth-especially since Blaise had been uncharacteristically silent for a record of two minutes, probably waiting for an opportunity to nail Pansy.

Pansy feigned a bored expression. "Really, Zabini. If you keep bringing up Draco, then people are going to suspect that _you_ have a thing for him."

Raquel didn't even bother to look up from the magazine that she was now flipping through, but Alyssa and Millicent snickered, both happy to see the gun turned onto Blaise. She had been hardly bearable ever since returning for their seventh year at Hogwarts.

"If I did have a thing for Malfoy," Blaise shot back. "I wouldn't be ashamed to admit it. He's without a doubt the finest specimen in this damned school." Her mouth curved into a confident smirk. "Not that it does you any good, Parkinson. Everyone knows that Malfoy considers you one of the guys."

Well, that was just mean.

Pansy had the sudden urge to smash her best friend's face into the nearest wall. This was really getting old. For whatever reason, Blaise had recently been going out of her way to challenge Pansy at every opportunity. It was almost as if she were trying to compete for the position as the leader of their little group. If that was her agenda, then Blaise was just wasting her time, because Pansy had never considered herself to be the leader.

Not to forget that the girl was supposed to be her best friend.

"I realize that it seems to be impossible for you to grasp the concept of friendship, _Zabini_, but that's what Draco and I have. Now, get over it," she said slowly.

Blaise smirked. "That's _all_ you have."

Sure, rub it in.

Pansy could feel her face giving way to a scowl. Before she could stop herself, she retorted, "Maybe you should concentrate on your own love life, Zabini."

Predictably, her best friend's eyes narrowed instantly. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked suspiciously.

_Why do you make me do this, Blaise?_ Pansy asked silently. She really didn't like to, but it was the only way to make her friend shut up.

"If I were you, I'd be keeping a closer eye on my boyfriend. Seeing as how yours happens to be getting rather frisky, lately."

Even Raquel looked up at that comment.

Blaise looked furious. "What the hell are you talking about?" she screeched.

A few housemates dared to glance over. Perfect.

Pansy raised an insolent eyebrow and said calmly, "Just what I said. He's been pawing everything that moves."

Well, that may or may not be true, but Pansy _had_ come across Aidan Bromley making out with some Hufflepuff in the library. She had been tempted to tell Blaise straight off, but then her friend had made the mistake of making some snide comment about her and Draco. Pansy had instantly written another memo to herself about filing away useful information for future use.

Blaise's mouth was hanging unattractively as she struggled to overcome her anger and find a suitable comeback.

Pansy didn't feel like waiting around to see the explosion, so she stood gracefully. Giving Blaise a pointed look that clearly said, _Don't mess with me,_ she turned around and left the Great Hall.

It was only after she was out of sight that Pansy's proud shoulders sagged. She was tired of being in a constant state of alert whenever she was with her so-called friends.

It hadn't always been this way, as she recalled. Granted, the Slytherins in her year were hardly the sunniest bunch in Hogwarts, but then something happened that had altered things between them considerably. Well, _someone_, more like. The resurrection of a certain Dark Lord had whipped everyone into a high state of alert that resulted in almost continuous power struggles against one another.

Pansy couldn't help but mourn the loss of her ignorance.

She glanced at her watch. Some of the tension went out of her shoulders when she realized that it was time for her lesson.

Grinning, she turned around and began to head back toward the entrance hall. Ignoring the noise still coming from the Great Hall, she jogged hurriedly down the steep steps to the dungeons. The green lamps hanging along the walls immediately sprang to life as she approached, lighting her way along the winding corridors.

Once she reached the empty classroom, Pansy glanced around to make sure that she was alone. Satisfied, she undid her school robe and slipped it over her head. She removed her tie as well and slipped both items into her bag. Her hair was already secured in a ponytail, so she didn't have to worry about pulling it away from her face.

Taking a steadying breath, Pansy opened the door and slid inside the dark room as silently as possible.

The door automatically locked behind her.

Still grinning, she carefully placed her bag on the floor and reached for the sword of the nearest suite of armor. The weapon felt both heavy and deadly in her hand.

The room was pitch-black, but Pansy scanned the darkness for any sign of movement.

There were none.

Holding her breath, she moved further into the room. With every step, she was putting herself into more danger.

Once she was in the middle of the room (or what felt like the middle), she stopped and waited. Pansy strained her ears, but there was silence.

She frowned. Maybe he hadn't arrived, yet.

But as soon as the thought entered her mind, there was a quick movement to her left. Pansy immediately threw herself to the side and barely missed the sword that hit the ground with a loud clang. She whipped around and stared into the darkness.

There was a deep chuckle and a whispered spell.

The room immediately illuminated.

Pansy blinked once as her eyes adjusted and then focused in on the boy across from her.

Draco smirked at her amusedly. "You're getting better," he said softly. Like her, he had discarded his robe and tie. He had also removed his vest and the white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up.

If he weren't holding a sword, Pansy wasn't sure that she would have been able to hold herself back from pouncing on him.

Beaming with pride at his compliment, she mirrored him in the offensive position, holding the sword in front of her. They faced off and began to circle one another.

"Maybe you're just getting worse," she teased.

Draco immediately lunged at her, and Pansy barely managed to dodge him, spinning around in time for their swords to connect above their heads. Their faces were inches apart, and Pansy's breathing hitched at the intense look in his eyes.

"I've never been better," he said confidently.

"Maybe that's saying something," she responded with a smirk.

Draco immediately swung his sword in an arch toward her abdomen. Pansy quickly dropped her sword to block, but the unsteady impact caused her to stumble backwards.

Draco took advantage of her momentary weakness and knocked the sword right out of her hand. Dismayed, Pansy did some quick thinking.

Draco strode forward, grinning. He raised his sword with the intention of pressing it against her neck and claiming his victory. "That was a nice attempt—"

His face registered his shock when Pansy suddenly dropped out of his line of vision and onto her haunches. Using one hand to support herself, she drew back and kicked hard at his knees.

"Hey!" he cried, falling backward onto the floor.

Pansy quickly leapt forward and grabbed for his fallen sword. Gripping the hilt, she jumped to her feet and moved forward. She grinned down at him.

"It seems that I've finally beaten you, Monsieur Malfoy," she murmured happily.

She raised the sword, but was caught off guard when Draco's boot connected with her own knee. Sharp pain filled her leg at the sharp contact and she quickly found herself lying flat on her back.

Pansy was too surprised to react quickly enough. Before she could blink, Draco had rolled on top of her, and his sword was digging into her neck.

They stared at each other, hearts beating rapidly. The pressure of Draco's warm body on top of her instantly fuddled Pansy's brain. Those triumphant eyes were boring into her. Didn't he realize what he was doing to her?

Pansy was the first to break the silence. "Damn," she muttered.

Draco gave her a dazzling grin. "The day that you beat me, Mademoiselle Parkinson, is the day that I will relinquish all to you."

Pansy couldn't help herself. She raised her head and hesitantly pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth. When there was no response, Pansy immediately pulled away and averted her eyes in shame. Oh, Merlin. When was she going to accept that Blaise had been right? Draco didn't see her that way.

To make matters worse, Draco actually laughed. Rolling off of her, he retrieved his wand and said quick spells over both of their aching legs. Tucking the wand away, he swiftly stood and offered her his hand. "It's been a while since you did that," he said good humouredly, referring to the kiss.

Pansy took the offered hand, but she refused to look at him.

Their relationship had always been a strange one. They were friends, but not in the same way that they were friends with anyone else. There had always been an underlying chemistry that neither had realized was special until they had entered their teenage years. Actually, maybe only Pansy realized it. She honestly had no idea what Draco made of the two of them. There had always been innocent kisses and brushes of skin, so maybe Draco never even thought twice about it.

Unfortunately, the innocence had only lasted until Pansy had realized that she more than liked it when Draco touched her.

At first, things had been fine between them. Pansy had merely acted normally whenever he was around, and then entertained herself with fantasies while in private. It had worked just fine during their first and second years at Hogwarts, but unfortunately, things couldn't stay the same. She used to be the only girl, other than his mother, in Draco's life. But by their fourth year, Draco's hormones had finally kicked into full gear.

Needless to say, things became quite different.

At least, for Pansy, anyway.

"You weren't at dinner," she said, struggling to fight off the bitter feelings that were associated with her fourth year.

Draco picked up both of their swords and put them back in their places before answering. "Yeah. Mandy Brocklehurst cornered me on the way to the Great Hall." He gave her a fiendish smile. "You wouldn't think that a Ravenclaw bookworm like that would be so... _creative_."

Pansy sighed and concentrated on brushing the imaginary dust off of her clothes. Draco never seemed to realize that she had absolutely no interest whatsoever in hearing about his sexual conquests.  
Honestly, how dense could the boy be?

"Did you really mean it when you said that I've gotten better?" she asked hopefully, purposely changing the subject.

"Do I ever say things that I don't mean?" he asked seriously.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Constantly."

Draco looked put out. "Well, I meant that."

She grinned, but Draco quickly deflated her ego. "When we first started, you could barely _lift_ a sword, let alone swing one."

She glared at him. "Well, excuse me for being unfamiliar with weaponry. You know, most girls my age spend their time trying new make-up products. I still don't understand why I'm wasting my time here doing mortal combat with you."

Draco shook his head and gave her a stern look. "It's not a waste of your time. I told you that it's going to benefit you when the actual fighting starts."

Pansy frowned. "I highly doubt that everyone is suddenly going to forget their wands in favor of swords," she said skeptically.

"Maybe not, but you never know what's going to happen," Draco said sensibly, running a hand through his hair. Silver strands fell back into his eyes, and Pansy instinctively reached up to brush them away from his face. She allowed her hand to linger on his cheek.

They stared at each other silently for a moment. Pansy wanted to kiss him for real this time, but that would have been foolish. Draco would probably laugh at her again.

"We'd better get back to the dorm. I still have a lot of homework left to do," he said finally.

Reluctantly, Pansy removed her hand from his face and picked up her bag from the floor. "You'd have finished by now if you didn't spend all of your time with sluts attached to parts of your anatomy," she grumbled.

Draco just gave her a look and guided her out of the classroom. Pansy tried not to enjoy the feeling of his hand against her back.

"Did you finish your painting, yet?" Draco asked.

She shook her head. "Nope. Sadly, some of us actually have limited free time."

Draco gave her a wolfish smile. "Pity."

Pansy felt the remnants of her good mood swiftly leaving her. Her voice came out surlier than she would have liked. "Why were you with Brocklehurst, anyway? I thought that you said she was a loser."

"Did I say that?" he asked innocently.

"Yes," she said dully. "To her face, actually. Right after she asked you to dance at the Yule Ball. In front of everyone."

"Huh." Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, that's right!" he said finally, obviously recalling the incident. "Well, she's fixed her hair since then."

"She cut two inches off," she muttered.

He gave her a sideways look. "The Yule Ball was years ago. I can't believe that you still remember that."

Pansy felt her face heat up. "Only because it was one of the high points of the night," she lied. "The poor girl burst into hysterics. _I_ can't believe that she's forgiven you already."

"Oh, she's forgiven me all right," Draco said smugly.

Pansy just shook her head. She didn't want to think about that girl and her best friend. Apparently Draco would even rather snog a loser over her. Surprise, surprise. She felt her ego sink down into her shoes.

"You wouldn't believe some of the things that she's learned to do," Draco continued happily.

"Hmn," Pansy murmured noncommittally, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a spare piece of parchment and her special self-inking quill.

"If I'd known, I never would have blown her off like that—"

"Draco," she said abruptly, cutting him off.

He paused and looked at her. "What?"

"Hold this," she said, shoving her bag into his arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Turn around," she ordered.

Draco gave her a confused look, but did as he was told.

Purposely not checking out his impressive backside, she held up her parchment against his back and scribbled a sloppy note onto it.

_Memo to self: Cut off Draco's manhood_.

"Thanks," she said, tearing off the corner of the parchment and stuffing it into her pocket. She took back her bag and stuffed the rest of the parchment and her quill back into it.

Without another word, she continued on her way back to the dorms.

Draco gave her an amused look. "You and your notes," he said, not exactly sounding mocking.

"You and your sluts," she responded, almost succeeding in not sounding bitter.

Instead of being offended, Draco laughed. "Well, you got me there."

* * *

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, with the curtains drawn, Pansy reached into her pocket and emptied the contents onto her bedspread. There were at least ten notes.

Hoping that there would be some small bit of wisdom among them, Pansy began to sift through the notes. She opened the nearest one.

_Memo to self: Get Over Draco Malfoy._

Well, that was sensible enough.

She picked up the next one.

_Memo to self: Get New Friends_.

Also a good idea. But it was kind of late in the game to try to assimilate herself into unfamiliar groups. Pansy didn't delude herself into thinking that she was particularly popular. If nothing else, the girls from her house were feared, but definitely not liked.

She opened another note.

_Memo to self: Get Over Draco Malfoy._

Pansy sighed and reached for another one.

_Memo to self: Owl Parents About Getting More Paints._

She smiled to herself and reached for a piece of parchment to write that letter. She had enough paints to probably finish her current project, but after that? Pansy could already feel the insanity setting in.

She quickly jotted down what she needed, being sure to throw in a bunch of crap about missing her parents, and then tucked the letter away for later. She wrote herself another note so that she'd remember to actually send it.

Satisfied, Pansy reached for another one.

_Memo to self: Get Over Draco Malfoy._

Growling in frustration, Pansy gathered up the notes and stuffed them into her note-box. It had been a present from Draco two Christmas' ago. It was a small black box that actually had a huge amount of space in it once the right spell was uttered. It had been really thoughtful of him.

Locking up the note-box with another handy spell, Pansy left it on her bed and shoved the curtains aside. Her roommates were still down in the common room, so Pansy conveniently had the room to herself. She hopped off of her bed and moved in front of the full-length mirror.

Frowning, she studied herself.

Her wild, waist-length black hair was under control, thanks to Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Her hair was nowhere near as bad as Granger's on its own, but there was definitely too much curl for her taste.

Something Pansy had always wished for were blue eyes. Blaise had incredible blue eyes that Pansy had seen her use to her advantage on more than one occasion. Draco also had amazing eyes that shifted between being a very light blue to gray, depending on his mood. Her own eyes were large, brown, and boring.

Although Pansy's body had filled out considerably sometime between fourth and fifth year, Blaise still had her beat in that category. She couldn't even share clothes with her best friend anymore without worrying about Blaise stretching her tops out.

All in all, not too shabby.

Too bad that she still looked like a pug.

Pansy was a lot of things, but deaf wasn't one of them. She knew that people compared her to small mammals behind her back. Granted, she hadn't heard anything recently, but that didn't erase the hurtful memories.

Draco always told her that she was pretty, but Pansy didn't fool herself. The boy, magnetic as he may be, was a blatant liar. If she really were attractive, then Draco would have showed more than platonic interest in her by now.

Complete slut that he was.

Pansy sighed and moved away from the mirror. She pulled another parchment out of her bag and tore off the corner. Retrieving her quill, she leaned over her desk and wrote herself another note.

_Memo to self: Become Somebody Else._

* * *

"I don't believe this," Blaise hissed.

They were sitting in Herbology, waiting to be paired off into partners for their upcoming project. Blaise had just been put with Hermione Granger, and needless to say, she wasn't happy about it.

Pansy gave her friend an amused look. As usual, there had been no mention whatsoever of their earlier squabble. "What are you complaining about?" she asked. "You're partnered with Granger. She'll probably do all of the work by herself."

"Exactly," Blaise grumbled. "I'm stuck with the know-it-all."

"Are you saying that you actually _want_ to do the work?" Pansy asked, incredulous. She glanced over at Granger, who, incredibly enough, seemed to have already started jotting down notes, despite the fact that the project hadn't even been assigned, yet.

Blaise shrugged self-consciously. "I'm not saying _that_. It's just that I _like_ Herbology, and this project could be interesting."

Pansy just shook her head in amazement. Blaise had always been something of an enigma to her. No one would ever suspect her best friend of being a bookworm to any degree, nor would they be wrong. Blaise was not above bullying other students into doing her homework for her.

But then again, who would have guessed that the girl would actually like Herbology, of all things? Everyone seemed to think that every Slytherin's favorite class was Potions. That may have been true of Draco, but Pansy didn't understand it. Sure, Snape's blatant favoritism sometimes bordered on embarrassing, and she was doing all right in his N.E.W.T class, but that didn't change the fact that the class was its own layer of hell.

"Seamus Finnigan and... Draco Malfoy!"

On her other side, Draco groaned loudly. "Why do I have to be with Finnigan?" he grumbled to her.

Pansy had been concentrating on Draco's warm thigh, which was currently pressing against hers, but she took the time to glance back over to where the Gryffindors were clustered.

Not surprisingly, Seamus didn't look too pleased with the arrangement, either. The Gryffindor boys nearest him were patting his shoulders sympathetically.

Pansy rolled her eyes. Anyone would have been lucky to be paired up with Draco. Ever since his father had cracked down on him about his grades, Draco had been almost scary in his dedication.

"Hey, at least you didn't get stuck with Potter, again," she said dismissively.

Secretly, she was rather disappointed about that. She loved the way that Draco's eyes got that intense look whenever he was sparring with Potter. It was one of the reasons that she had always picked on Granger. Whenever one of his friends was threatened, Potter could always be counted on to butt in, and that naturally led to Draco jumping in. Pansy usually only had to contribute about two words to the mix before Draco and Potter took over.

She glimpsed down at their still-aligned thighs. Draco couldn't possibly be as oblivious to their almost constant physical contact as he seemed to be. Especially since it was usually him who sought out the contact. She may not have kissed him in a while, but that didn't mean that he hadn't kissed _her_. Short brushes of the mouth, and hands on shoulders... There was simply no way that he could be so unaware of what he was doing to her.

Could he?

"I don't see why we always have to share most of our classes with the Gryffindors, anyway," Blaise muttered.

"Dumbledore," Draco spat instantly. "He probably thinks that if we're forced in together with them enough that they'll be a good influence on us."

"Rubbish," Blaise agreed.

"Will you two shut up?" Pansy whispered. "I haven't heard my name called, yet."

She was more than familiar with Draco's anti-Gryffindor and anti-Dumbledore diatribe. He wasn't off when he said that Dumbledore favored the Gryffindors. Hell, everyone did. It always made her blood boil when her fellow students complained about Snape's Slytherin bias. The Gryffindors had the entire world on their side, so why not allow the Slytherins _one_ defender?

"Pansy Parkinson and... Dean Thomas."

Pansy blinked. Thomas? She looked over at the Gryffindor in surprise. The boy may have been in her year, but she couldn't remember having ever spoken to him before in her life.

"Thomas?" Draco sniffed. He looked Dean over with disdain. "Well, I suppose there's an up-side. You could always teach your plant to attack whenever a Muggleborn comes too close." His face brightened. "It could be your Christmas present to me."

"He's better than Finnigan," Pansy countered, not knowing if that was true. "And how do you know that we're going to be teaching tricks to plants, anyway?"

"What else are we going to do?" he said with a bored shrug.

"I've worked with him before," Blaise told her, referring to Dean. "He's not the worstGryffindor in the lot." She gave Granger another sour look.

Somewhat relieved, Pansy glanced over at her partner. Dean's friends were currently snickering to him and giving Pansy pointed looks.

Feeling her face heat up, Pansy concentrated on staring down at the table. Why did they have to do that? After seven years of sharing the same classes and being paired together, you would think that her year-mates would have gotten a little more mature about the partner-thing.

But apparently not.

She risked looking up again, only to find another pair of eyes looking back at her. Pansy blinked in surprise. Thomas had turned around in his seat and had apparently been staring. He instantly blushed at the eye contact, but didn't turn away.

They studied each other silently for a moment.

Thomas was definitely tall, but not imposingly so. He had broad shoulders and dark eyes that Pansy had never considered interesting before. His dark skin was smooth and he had full lips that Pansy instantly found herself jealous of.

She began to study him more intently. Thomas suddenly seemed very intriguing, seeing as how Pansy had never particularly noticed him before.

Pansy tilted her head and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wondering what he was thinking about her. Thomas merely gave her a quick smile in return before turning back around in his seat. Finnegan said something snide, but Thomas didn't even acknowledge him.

"Now that you've all been sorted into partners," Professor Sprout began, interrupting Pansy's train of thought. "I'll tell you about your projects."

Blaise leaned forward eagerly.

Uninterested, Pansy continued to watch Thomas. She chewed on her quill thoughtfully.

This could definitely be interesting.

* * *

**Author's Note Numero Dos:** Anyone notice that, for once, the partnering didn't occur in Potions? Lol. Almost strange isn't it? Anyway, I would really appreciate some feedback! This story has been brewing in my head for quite some time now, and I'd really like to know what you think so far! 


	2. Ever the Slytherin

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1.

**Special Note:** You barely, if even, got a glimpse of Draco's French roots in the last chapter, but his native tongue will be used quite frequently from this point on by both him and Pansy. For translations, see the second author's note at the bottom. A special thanks goes to **Leera** for correcting my French and for betaing at a brilliant speed! You guys rock!

**Warning**: Just remember that this fic was started before _Order of the Phoenix_ came out and before I found out that Blaise Zabini is male, so it's definitely AU in that sense.

**Forgivable Expectations  
Chapter 2: Ever the Slytherin  
**

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends—_The Sorting Hat_ in Sorcerer's Stone._

_"Work saves us from three great evils: boredom, vice and need."—_ Voltaire, '_Candide_.'

**

* * *

**Pansy chewed her lip thoughtfully as she stared at her incomplete canvas. It was going to be a stretch, but she could probably finish her portrait with her remaining paints. 

"What do you think we're going to have to do tomorrow in Herbology?" Millicent asked, the question not really directed at anyone in particular.

"I couldn't give a fuck," Raquel said dryly, throwing selected clothes from her closet onto her bedspread.

Millicent gave Raquel a disgruntled look but kept her mouth shut and buried her nose in her Herbology textbook.

Pansy frowned at this. After seven years of verbal beatings, Millicent seemed to have accepted her place beneath the other girls. A compliant attitude like that could be dangerous for her in the future. She would never be promoted through the ranks.

"Is Moon still dating Lisa Turpin?" Blaise asked suddenly, drawing Pansy out of her worries.

"What difference does it make if he has a girlfriend?" Alyssa mused, applying an extra layer of lip-gloss to her already overdone mouth.

Blaise grinned. "It doesn't. It's just good to know who the competition is."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Apparently her best friend had decided to give her boyfriend some of his own medicine. A brilliant plan, that. She wondered if Bromley would even notice.

Shaking her head, Pansy dropped down beside her bed and pulled her art trunk out from underneath it. She rose on her knees and pulled open the top drawer of her bureau to hunt for the keys to the trunk.

"Are you really going to make a move on Moon?" Raquel asked dully, not sounding as if she really cared.

"Maybe," Blaise said mysteriously, glancing through the pile of clothes that Raquel had thrown onto her bed. She held up a red dress. "This dress draws attention to your huge hips," she said flippantly.

Pansy's fingers finally located the set of keys. She pulled them out and dropped back down next to her trunk, putting the selected key into the fourth lock from the right.

Raquel's face showed her indignation. "My hips aren't huge!" she exclaimed shrilly.

"Actually," Blaise continued as if she hadn't heard Raquel. "I'd suggest staying away from every color other than black unless you plan to lose at least ten pounds before tomorrow night."

Pansy snorted. As per usual, Blaise had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. She would kill to be shaped like Raquel. Draco liked his girls to have generous curves.

Pansy cursed nature every day for giving her such a narrow shape.

Raquel glared at Pansy, obviously mistaking her snort for agreement. "Well, what are _you _going to wear tomorrow, Parkinson?" she asked sulkily.

"My school uniform, you twit," she answered evenly, not bothering to look up from her task of selecting the right colors from the huge assortment of paints in her trunk.

"I meant to the party," Raquel said angrily.

Pansy looked up in alarm. "Party? There's a party?"

"Of course," Alyssa said, glancing up from her magazine. "Where have _you _been?"

"Out of the loop, obviously," Pansy said dryly, standing up.

"Obviously," Blaise said haughtily.

Pansy ignored her. "Well, when is it, then?" she asked resignedly.

"It's tomorrow night after curfew," Alyssa replied, seemingly pleased to be the one to tell her. "Sixth and seventh years only, of course."

Pansy sighed and gathered up her paints, carrying them over to her easel. She really hated the parties that occurred in the Slytherin common room.

"Who's providing the booze?" she asked wryly.

"Malfoy, I think," Alyssa said glibly, picking up her hairbrush.

"Oh," she said disappointedly. It would be him, wouldn't it?

Pansy never asked _how _Draco managed to come up with the alcohol because she secretly suspected that one of the professors must have a stash hidden away somewhere. Knowing that the person currently grading her homework could very well be the one who one day hit her with an _Avada Kedavra _didn't exactly do wonders for the morale as it was, so Pansy really didn't need to be thinking of her teachers as real people who had real problems like alcoholism.

For some reason, Pansy's fellow Slytherins didn't seem to have the same problem dealing with it as she did. After failing a test in Transfiguration, Blaise had once made an off-hand comment about hoping to be the one who got to take McGonagall down. Pansy had been forced to excuse herself to be sick in the girls' lavatory.

It was something that she was going to have to work on.

"You don't look too excited," Alyssa observed, watching her in the mirror.

"Why should she be?" Blaise said, smirking. "We all know that Pansy is going to spend the party watching Malfoy suck the tonsils out of some lower year."

Pansy felt her face heat up as she scowled at Blaise. Merlin help her if she wouldn't be right there next to Blaise on the battlefield, but right now she just wanted to take her to the top of the Astronomy Tower and toss her off.

_Memo to self: Buy Blaise A Gag._

"At least I know that it won't be you," Pansy said in a low voice.

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know that, Parkinson?" she asked quietly.

Pansy suddenly felt a distinct unease crawling up her neck. "You're not his type," she lied, keeping her facial expression blank.

In reality, Blaise was _exactly _Draco's type, which was why Pansy had made a point of begging him not to ever mess around with her. Well, technically, she had asked him not to sleep with _any _of her roommates under the guise of it becoming uncomfortable for her, but Blaise had been the obvious threat.

Blaise snorted. "And _you _are?"

Pansy opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden noise distracted her. She turned her head and froze.

An owl was settled on the grass outside of their window, pecking at the pane urgently.

A tense silence settled over the room. Alyssa and Raquel exchanged pointed looks. Millicent clutched her Herbology book with white knuckles. Pansy held her breath. Blaise looked excited.

"This could be it," she said softly.

Pansy suddenly felt sick. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

It had been a triumphant day when Pansy Parkinson had returned to Hogwarts as a seventh year and had finally been granted a room witha view. Actually, that view consisted of a stretch of water that stretched boringly to the Forbidden Forest, but the rest of the dorms were underground, so it was still a victory. She no longer had to wait for the morning post like all of the lower years in her house.

Unfortunately, just as she had been granted the privilege, it had been spoiled. The arrival of letters these days caused a certain air of trepidation. Her parents rarely sent her anything frivolous, so she could safely assume that any word from them would have something to do with either Voldemort or potential marriage contracts.

She wasn't sure which was more terrifying.

"Do you think it has to do with the attack on the Vestrys?" Millicent whispered, looking horrified.

Everyone exchanged looks, thinking the same thing.

Promotion.

But whose parents got it?

No one moved and the owl continued to flutter outside. Finally, Blaise sighed in frustration. "You're all behaving like utter morons," she declared, moving over to open the window.

Pansy reached out to clutch the edge of her desk for support.

The deaths of the Vestrys, two prominent Ministry officials, had been a blow too close to home for the Wizard community. Mainly because the Vestrys were both in charge of Ministry security. To have the twopeople who were supposedly most aware of what was going on suddenly show up on the Ministry doorstep with obscene designs carved into their flesh naturally resulted in a widespread shock of disillusionment.

For Slytherin house, the news had something of a different effect. The Death Eaters who had headed the attack were no doubt due some recognition for their success. The Death Eater division in charge of the attack just happened to be the one that included Pansy's father. And not just hers, but also Blaise and Millicent's. Alyssa's father was already in the Inner Circle and had been since before Harry Potter had even been born. Raquel's father was in another division.

This letter could contain the news that any of their fathers had been promoted up into the Inner Circle of Death Eaters. News of this kind would be huge for several reasons. The main one was that having her father in the Inner Circle would mean that her attractiveness for marriage matches would be greatly increased. It would mean that she would finally be eligible to marry into a more esteemed family.

Like the Malfoys.

But a promotion for her father would also mean a thousand other things. It would mean that her father's life ambition would be fulfilled. It would mean that her mother would finally be invited to those exclusive teas that Narcissa Malfoy hosted at Malfoy Manor. It would mean that there would be little doubt as to where Pansy should expect to find herself when the armies finally clashed-right next toVoldemort and across from Dumbledore.

Not that there was any doubt either way.

But the face that Pansy couldn't help but imagine was Professor Snape's. In her dreams he always looked disappointed, and she always woke up feeling guilty for crimes she hadn't even committed, yet.

Another thing that she was going to have to work on.

But if her father _didn't _get the promotion, it would be an entirely different story. This was basically her last chance at becoming eligible for Draco. It was highly unlikely that there would be enough time to plan _another _attack worthy enough of a promotion before her graduation, and Draco had told her that Lucius Malfoy was planning on marrying him off almost immediately after he had received his diploma. Her own father had similar plans.

But if not Draco, then who?

A disturbing picture of herself in a white wedding dress, standing next to Gregory Goyle, suddenly flitted across her mind. Pansy shuddered in revulsion.

It seemed to take forever for Blaise to cross the room. She took her time, obviously full of anticipation.

What if Blaise's father had gotten the promotion? Pansy bit her lip. That was simply unacceptable. She would kill her best friend before she so much as blinked at the engagement ring that had once graced Narcissa Malfoy's hand.

Or the letter could be the one that they were all waiting for, whether they admitted it or not. The one that told them that it was time to abandon Hogwarts and join their parents in their service to the Dark Lord. It was looking increasingly likely that the Slytherin seventh years weren't going to make it to graduation day.

When Blaise finally pulled the window open, the owl immediately swooped in and headed straight for Pansy's easel like a bat out of hell.

Panicked, Pansy cried out and swung her arms rapidly, attempting to divert its path. There was_no_way that bloody bird was going to get talon marks all over her canvas!

Screeching, the bird soared over her head and landed instead on Alyssa's vanity, scattering her make-up onto the floor.

"Little shit!" Alyssa shrieked. She grabbed her wand and pointed it menacingly at the owl.

"Calm your ass down," Raquel said, quickly grabbing the wand from Alyssa. She grinned at Millicent. "I believe that pathetic piece of poultry belongs to your family, doesn't it, Bulstrode? Or is it a rental?" she suggested sweetly.

"It's mine," Millicent said meekly.

Pansy felt all of the tension sweep out of her. The letter wasn't for her. Not yet.

She shook her head and forced her weak legs to stand straight, annoyed with herself for letting a stupid letter send her into near convulsions.

Pansy moved toward her dresser with the intention of getting out her painting shirt.

White as a sheet, Millicent untied the letter from the owl's leg. She cracked the seal and read it hurriedly, looking increasingly nauseous.

"Well, what does it say?" Blaise asked impatiently, hands on her hips.

Millicent raised terrified eyes to her. "It says..."

"What?" Blaise persisted.

Pansy glanced over with interest as she pulled her sweater over her head and slipped her arms into Draco's old button-up shirt. Had Millicent's father gotten the promotion? She had never even considered Bulstrode to be a competitor.

Frowning, Pansy crossed her arms over her chest and considered Millicent silently. The other girl was a good foot taller than Pansy, but she slouched her square shoulders self-consciously. Her heavy jaw may have appeared aggressive to lower years, but she never looked anything but timid around her roommates. Despite repeated threats from Alyssa about cutting it off while she slept, Millicent still insistedon wearing her mousy hair in a sharp braid down her back.

_This _was her competition?

Pansy finally shook her head, amazed at her own defensiveness. Geez, was she ever the Slytherin. Even if Mr. Bulstrode had gotten it, Lucius Malfoy would still never even consider someone like Millicent for Draco. If Pansy looked like a pug, than Millicent strongly resembled a pit-bull. Plus, she was weak. It was laughable, really.

Right?

Millicent visibly gulped. Everyone's attention was now squared in on her. What was in that letter?

"My parents..."

"What happened?" Raquel asked in a hushed voice. "Did your father get promoted?"

Millicent shook her head.

"Fucking spit it out, Bulstrode!" Alyssa snapped.

"My parents are looking into Durmstrang for a marriage match for me," Millicent whispered.

The anticipation broke and Blaise groaned. "Is that all?"

Pansy sighed in annoyance and began buttoning up Draco's shirt.

Alyssa glared at Millicent. "You made it seem important," she said accusingly.

"It is!" Millicent insisted. "I could end up married to some stranger!"

Raquel laughed derisively. "That's the only way that your parents could ensure you a match, Bulstrode. Be grateful that the poor guy won't get a view of you before the wedding. He won't be able to back out then. Be sure to wear a thick veil."

"Fuck off!" Millicent snapped, her eyes suddenly blazing.

Pansy gaped at Millicent in astonishment. When was the last time that she had stood up for herself?

Raquel looked equally shocked. She put her face directly into Millicent's. "What did you say to me?" she asked in a dangerous voice.

Millicent shrank back, obviously regretting opening her mouth. "I..."

Pansy had the sudden urge to laugh. There might be some hope for Millicent after all.

"Are you deaf?" she asked Raquel amusedly. "She told you to fuck off."

Fighting the urge to grin, Pansy looked over at Blaise and realized that her smirk looked strange. The subtle difference was confusing until it hit her.

Blaise was trying not to smile, too.

Their gazes locked and they shared an understanding grin. For a moment, it felt like before Voldemort had been resurrected and their rivalry had been sparked. When they were still Pansy and Blaise, rather than Parkinson and Zabini.

Then, looking disturbed, Blaise averted her gaze.

The moment ended abruptly.

Pansy felt some sadness. Why did it always have to be a fight?

"Finally growing some claws, Bulstrode?" Blaise asked airily, turning back to Millicent.

Raquel's upper lip curled. "She'd better watch where she scratches in the future."

Millicent picked her Herbology book back up and stared at it with a furious concentration, obviously hoping that Raquel would lose interest and forget her.

Pansy smirked and pulled her long hair into a ponytail. It was time to get to work.

"Will somebody get this bloody owl out of here?" Alyssa snapped suddenly.

The afore-mentioned bird was happily wandering back and forth along Alyssa's vanity, oblivious to the murderous stares being sent its way.

Millicent sighed and went to retrieve her family's bird.

Rolling up her sleeves, Pansy smiled, reveling in the fact that she was wearing one of Draco's old shirts. She lowered her face to her shoulder and attempted to inhale the fabric. Although it had been washed several times since Draco had last worn it, she liked to imagine that his scent was still on it. It felt odd to be wearing something that probably cost more than Weasley's entire house to paint in, but Draco had assured her that the shirt was ridiculously out of date (in other words, it was more than a year old), and Pansy would have no other opportunity to wear his cast-offs.

"Isn't that Malfoy's shirt?"

Startled, Pansy snapped out of her reverie and stared at Blaise, who was giving her a disturbing smile.

Damn. Had she seen?

"Used to be," Pansy said noncommittally, her heart racing.

"Does he know that you have it?" Blaise asked slyly.

Pansy gave her a cold look. God, how pathetic did Blaise think that she was? And why did she recognize Draco's shirt? He had thousands of shirts.

"Draco gave me this shirt to paint in," she said flatly.

Blaise smirked. "I guess smelling his clothes is as close as you're going to get to the real thing."

Pansy felt the familiar defensive monster rise up in her as her cheeksreddened with embarrassment. She_hated_it when Blaise did this. Their moment was now completely forgotten.

The hated routine was reestablished.

"Have you seen Bromley today?" she asked abruptly, turning the tables away from herself as she had a thousand times before.

Blaise glared at her. "What's it to you?"

Pansy shrugged lazily. "I guess that you don't care that he's probably with that girl right now."

Raquel and Alyssa hesitated in their primping to glance over in interest.

Blaise gave them a frightening glare before turning back to Pansy. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Parkinson."

Millicent bit her lip, looking nervously from girl to girl over the rim of her book.

Pansy held up her hands innocently. "Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, it's remarkable that you've managed to keep him interested this long, Zabini."

Blaise's mouth fell open.

Feigning detachment, Pansy began squirting paint onto her palette.

"They _do_ like to stray," Raquel said lightly, holding a slinky top up against herself as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror.

Blaise looked at Raquel in alarm. "What the hell do you know, Briggs?" she snapped.

Pansy smirked. It was always easier when you had allies on your side-even if they were only out for themselves.

Raquel gave Blaise an innocent look over her shoulder. "What?"

"You heard me, Slut!" Blaise yelled. "Have you been messing around with my boyfriend, Briggs?"

Pansy choked on a laugh. That was unexpected.

Raquel looked just as surprised, but she quickly recovered and said, "Are you honestly worried, Zabini? Even with my big hips?"

With that, she dropped the top back on the bed and sauntered out of the room.

Blaise immediately turned on Pansy. "Have fun fantasizing about Malfoy, Parkinson," she spat, going after Raquel.

Pansy pursed her lips. She would see about getting that gag.

"Should be quite a show in the common room," Alyssa said with a grin. She stood and walked to the door. "Coming?"

"Nah."

Alyssa shrugged and disappeared down the staircase after them.

Pansy sighed in relief, glad that they were gone. Now, as long as Millicent stayed quiet, she would be able to put her entire focus into this painting.

She returned to her palette and dragged the globes of white and black paint into the blue to create the right shades.

When she was satisfied, Pansy lifted the brush to the canvas and drew it down along the charcoal contour, creating long streaks for the hair. She wasn't really sure how this was going to come out, but her arm was still moving, so she went with it, creating strand after strand of curly blue hair.

As she worked, Pansy couldn't help but wonder where Draco was. It wouldn't be the first time that Draco had forced his Quidditch teammates to continue working after the sun had already disappeared from the sky. She hoped that he didn't burn himself out. They had a test in Arithmancy the next morning.

Completing the hair proved to be a long and tedious task, but Pansy was happy with the end-result. Long, curly hair spilling over onto the folded arms that the unfinished face was resting on.

By the time that she had moved on to the school uniform, Millicent had already left to go to dinner.

Pansy used short, quick brush strokes, attempting to show the soft texture of the house scarf. She wanted it to look new. A first year's scarf wouldn't be worn and in need of a replacement.

Maybe Draco had finished practice already and was eating dinner with Crabbe and Goyle.

She worked until her entire body ached. Her shoulders were screaming for a break, and her arm felt like it was in danger of falling off, but Pansy had to get this done now or else she might lose the vibe and the picture would become worthless.

She filled in the outline of the small mouth with an indigo combination, being sure that the corners were turned down to show how unhappy she was.

Or maybe Draco had picked up another girl.

Pansy felt her mood darken considerably.

The skin was the lightest pigment. She mixed the rest of her white paint with the remainder of her blue so that the resulting color stood out against the rest without being completely isolated.

Pansy was distracted when the door opened with a loud bang. She looked up as Draco flounced in wearing his usual smug expression and carrying a plate of sandwiches.

"There you are!" he proclaimed. "You missed dinner."

"Not hungry," Pansy said, grinning at him. She was almost ridiculously pleased that he had thought to get her food and wasn't off with somebody else, after all.

"Haven't you finished, yet?" Draco asked, setting the plate down on her desk.

"Not quite," Pansy answered. "I just have to finish the eyes, and then I'll be done."

She grabbed another brush and dipped it into the black paint, dragging it into the white. She mixed them until they formed a familiar gray color.

Draco moved behind her and wrapped his arms around Pansy's waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He stared at the canvas.

Pansy resisted the urge to purr. His cheek was pressed against her neck and his warm breath was tickling her skin. She leaned back into him, snuggling into the embrace.

"What do you think so far?" she asked softly.

Draco gave her an amused look. "Totally and utterly depressing. As usual."

Pansy smirked and continued to work on the eyes. "Thanks, I guess."

Draco placed a soft kiss on her exposed collarbone and murmured, "You look good in my shirt."

Pansy suddenly had trouble breathing. "I know," she joked weakly.

If only everyone could see them when they were like this. They wouldn't be so quick to dismiss and joke about her feelings. Not if they could see the way that he was holding and kissing her now.

"Want to know where I just was?" Draco asked in a sly voice, his breath now tickling her ear.

"No," she said honestly, enjoying the shivers running up her neck.

He pouted. "Well, I'm going to tell you, anyway."

"I would be shocked if you didn't," she said dryly.

She felt him smile against her neck. "Guess who I was with."

Pansy withheld a sigh. Why did Draco always have to make this worse for her?

"I don't want to know about your sexual escapades," she said sourly. His arms around her suddenly felt suffocating. Setting down her palette, Pansy pulled away from him and collapsed into the desk chair.

"Come on. I'll give you a hint," he said, still grinning. "She's in Ravenclaw."

Pansy rubbed her sore shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. "Brocklehurst, again?" she said dourly, giving in.

Draco shoved Pansy's hand away from her shoulder and took over in massaging her aching muscles. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against him gratefully.

"Nope," he said mysteriously. "Try again."

Pansy groaned appreciatively. "That feels really good, Draco."

He chuckled. "Come on, Pans."

"I don't know whom you've been fooling around with!" she growled infrustration. Why did Draco insist on doing this? How could he go from complimenting and kissing her one second to flippantly describing other girls immediately afterward? It just wasn't right.

"Fine, I'll tell you."

_Joy_, she thought sarcastically.

"Lisa Turpin."

Pansy frowned. "Isn't that Moon's girlfriend? The prefect?"

Draco smiled wickedly. "Could be."

"Draco!" she cried, giving him an incredulous look. "How could you do that? Do relationships really mean absolutely nothing to you?"

That was her real fear. She knew that Draco didn't want to be in a real relationship right now, but if he genuinely didn't respect the idea of monogamy, then what hope did Pansy have of ever tying him down?

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure that Moon is hardly a saint."

"You don't know that!"

"Geez! Calm down, Pans. It's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. That privilege is still reserved for you," he said with a wink.

"Lucky me," she grumbled, her fears slightly assuaged.

"Just picture it," Draco continued, ignoring her. "After you've produced about seven children or so, and are no longer shaped even moderately like a normal woman should be, I'll buy you your own live-in cabana boy."

"And where will you be while I'm shagging the cabana boy and hiding from your seven brats?" she asked amusedly, temporarily forgetting about Moon and Turpin.

"You mean while you're crocheting booties for Draco Jr. and teaching the underprivileged cabana boy to speak English?" Draco asked innocently.

"Whatever you say," Pansy said with a smirk.

"Well, I will either be getting off with the maid or whining about my cow of a wife to Crabbe and Goyle."

Pansy glared at him. He could really be a jerk sometimes. "Or you'll be desperately searching your father's volumes for a spell to hinder male- pattern baldness," she shot back.

Draco looked horrified. "Malfoys do _not _go bald!"

Pansy didn't reply. Served the bastard right for bringing up the imaginary maid that Pansy had already killed at least eight times in her dreams.

"I'm serious!" Draco insisted.

She hummed to herself, pleased to have uncovered yet another vanity issue of Draco's. He could be worse than a girl sometimes.

Obviously annoyed, Draco gripped Pansy's chin and pulled it up so that he was staring down into her eyes.

"Malfoys do _not _go bald," he said, enunciating each word slowly. "Say it with me."

She laughed. "You're being ridiculous."

"Say it," he growled.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Malfoys don't go bald."

"Thank you," Draco said smugly, releasing her chin.

Pansy reached up and ran her fingers through his silver hair. "Sadly, your father has given you everything in the world _and _perfect hair," she said affectionately.

Draco grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. "You won't be complaining when Father has your own art studio built into Malfoy Manor as a wedding present."

Pansy stared at his lips wistfully. "Too bad there won't ever be a wedding," she said sadly.

"There will be," he said assuredly, bending down to kiss her cheek lightly.

Pansy closed her eyes and pulled Draco closer. "Not unless my father gets this promotion."

"He will, Babe." Draco kissed the edge of her mouth. "He has to. You and I have always said that we'd get married someday. There's no way that I'm going to spend the rest of my life chained to some bimbo that Father fishes out of Beauxbatons."

"But I thought that you liked bimbos," Pansy reminded him unhappily.

Draco laughed and kissed the side of her mouth again. "Of course. But that doesn't mean that I have any intention of marrying one. I have to be careful about who I make a Malfoy."

Pansy smiled at the indirect praise and turned her face up so that Draco could have better access to her mouth. Unfortunately, he hadalready stood upright again and returned to massaging her shoulders.

Slightly disappointed, Pansy sighed and closed her eyes again, relaxing under Draco's strong hands. Then another thought came to her. She bolted straight up.

"Wait a minute! Isn't Lisa Turpin roommates with Mandy Brocklehurst?"

Draco looked surprised by the conversation shift. "I suppose she would be," he said with a shrug.

"Draco, you slut!" she cried angrily.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"They're roommates!" she yelled, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

"So?"

"So, they share a room and are probably best friends!"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her and crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm failing to see your point."

Pansy grabbed a pillow from her bed and screamed into it in frustration. "_T'es incroyable," _she muttered.

"What's up with you?" Draco asked, confused.

"My best friend is scum," she said mournfully.

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Don't you think that you're being a tad melodramatic?"

"No," she grumbled.

Draco sighed and changed the subject. "I take it that you're too busy for a training session tonight?" he asked, nodding toward her canvas.

Pansy glared at him. If Draco thought that she was going to let him just brush this under the rug, then…

Well, he was right, Pansy realized with a sinking feeling. She _always _allowed him to get away with it. Just like she allowed him to get away with everything.

But she didn't have to be happy about it.

"Aren't you exhausted from Quidditch practice?" she asked grudgingly.

"I'm not too tired to take you down," he said, smiling.

Pansy wasn't too sure about that. She was just exasperated enough to cause some serious damage to Draco's perfect body. Not in a good way, either.

"I want to finish my painting and show it to Snape. Can we move our session to tomorrow?" she asked, running an exhausted hand over her face.

"No can do," Draco said. "I have stuff to do tomorrow to get ready for the party."

Pansy frowned at him. He was referring to the alcohol, no doubt.

"Don't give me that look!" Draco chastised. "I know that you don't like our parties, but maybe you should try actually having fun for once."

"Oh, but I _do _have fun," she said sarcastically, dropping onto her bed. "What could be better than getting shit-faced and passing out on the floor with my knickers over my head?"

"That's the spirit," Draco smirked, standing over her. "What about this weekend?" he suggested.

"I'll be busy then, too."

Draco raised a dubious eyebrow at her. "Doing what?"

"I'll think of something," she muttered.

"This weekend, then," Draco said smoothly, ignoring her groan. He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth, before walking toward the door and grabbing a sandwich from the plate as he went. "Gotta go, Babe."

"Where are you going?" she asked, feeling pathetic for needing to know.

"I have a date. _Je te verrai plus tard_."

"Bye," she said glumly.

Draco winked at her and closed the door on his way out.

Pansy watched him go with a sigh. This romantic attachment was definitely proving unhealthy for her.

"_Pourquoi suis-je amoureuse d'un salaud_?" she asked her ceiling.

When the ceiling declined to answer, Pansy stood up and walked over to her desk. She picked up her special quill and wrote:

_Memo to self: Keep Resolution to Avoid Physical Contact with Draco Malfoy._

It was proving harder than she had thought. The more she avoided Draco's touch, the more affectionate he seemed to become. Sadly, Pansy couldn't deny that this pleased her.

But it was definitely bad for her.

Very bad.

Shaking her head sadly, Pansy reached for her memo box, which was sitting on her desk. She whispered the password over it and then folded the parchment in half. She stuffed it inside and then closed the memo box and placed it back on her desk.

Pansy picked up her palette and frowned. The neglected paints had become hard and worthless. She squirted some fresh black and white onto the palette and mixed them into her favorite gray color. She tossed the empty bottles into the wastebasket with a sigh. Pansy hoped that her parents wouldn't dally with those new paints that she'd requested.

Finishing the portrait actually took up another hour, since Pansycouldn't seem to be able to stop herself from doing touch-ups here and there. When she was finally done, she took a step back and admired her work. Pansy grinned in satisfaction. It would do.

Pansy grabbed her wand and said, "_Siccus velociter_." The canvas was instantly dry. She said, "_Feo tarsus_," over her brush and palette. The scattered paint shimmered for a moment before completely disappearing, leaving the brush and palette clean. She placed them back in her art trunk.

Pansy turned back to her completed canvas. She quickly decided not to perform the spell that would give life to her creation. Professor Snape never used it and there was no one whom she admired more. Well, that and she had no intention of listening to the endless racket that all of her paintings would combine to form if given the chance to speak.

She hoped that Snape was in his chambers.

Excited, Pansy picked up her portrait and exited the bedroom. She hurried down the dark staircase and stepped into the dimly lit common room. A few people looked up as she passed.

"We were wondering if you'd died up there," Theodore Nott, Alyssa's twin brother, drawled, eyeing Pansy as he always did.

She ignored him and left the Slytherin common room. Pansy waited until the stone door had become concealed once again before she sprinted up the passageway. Her breathing turned to gasps as she attempted to jog up the endless staircase, lugging her large portrait. She had just reached the top, when-  
**  
**Oompf!

Pansy collided with something and was abruptly knocked back against the wall. Her portrait slipped from her fingers as her head and elbow banged painfully against the stone. Blinking in confusion, Pansy looked up into the eyes of a very pissed off girl.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" the girl shrieked, brushing her robes off.

Pansy felt a wave of anger rush over her. She rubbed her sore elbow and glared her. "You knocked into _me_!"

The girl stepped forward into the dim light cast from a green lantern hanging on a chain, reminiscent of the ones hanging in the Slytherin common room. Pansy's eyes narrowed.

Lisa Turpin.

Draco's whore.

"What the hell do you think that you're doing down here, Turpin?" she spat resentfully.

"I'm a prefect, _Parkinson_," Turpin said angrily. "So I can go anywhere I please."

"Is there a reason why you're in the dungeons?" Pansy repeated in the same resentful tone, pointedly ignoring the threat. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that she herself had once been a prefect.

Turpin flushed and looked suspiciously from side to side. "That'snone of your business!" she snapped.

Pansy scowled at her. "Draco isn't down here," she said stonily, taking no pleasure from the guilty shock on Turpin's face.

"I— I don't what you're—" Turpin sputtered, her blush visible even in the dim lighting.

"Whatever," Pansy grumbled, bending down to pick up her fallen portrait. She inspected it for damages. There were none.

She turned to leave, but Turpin's hand shot out and stopped her. Pansy jerked away immediately, giving Turpin a look that clearly said that if she touched her again there would be dire consequences.

Turpin looked quite shocked at her own action. She blinked incredulously at Pansy for a moment, and then her shoulders slumped resignedly. "Look, do you know where he is?" she asked somberly.

Pansy was surprised at the admission, but she hid it behind a glare. "I thought that you weren't looking for him," she said sarcastically.

Turpin flinched. "You know that I am," she said defensively, looking down at her hands.

Pansy's jaw clenched and she turned and began walking away. "He's not down here," she called stiffly over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Turpin cried.

Pansy hesitated and gave her an irritated look. "What?" she snapped.

"You're his best friend, aren't you?" Turpin asked, sounding almost desperate.

Unfortunately. "So?"

Turpin shrugged her shoulders self-consciously. "Well, you must know where he is."

"I don't," Pansy said shortly. She turned and continued down the passageway.

Pansy almost screamed in frustration when Turpin hurried to walk alongside her. Why wouldn't the idiot girl get the hell away from her?

"Look, I really need to talk to him," Turpin continued pitifully. "It's important."

Pansy growled and sprung around to face her. "Why don't you check with Brocklehurst?" she snapped before she could stop herself.

"What?"

Pansy mentally slapped her own forehead. Whoops.

"Why would he be with Mandy?" Turpin asked, her brow knitted in confusion.

Pansy swallowed. "He— Well— Look, I don't know— Just— He wouldn't be, okay?" she stammered, avoiding Turpin's eyes.

Turpin regarded Pansy suspiciously, albeit still confused. "Then, why would you say that?"  
**  
**"Because I have problems," Pansy muttered to herself.

"What?" Turpin asked.

Pansy stared at her, debating internally. A rather loud part of her mind was telling her that she should tell Turpin exactly what Draco thought of her— that she was nothing more than a random lay— and that he had used her best friend in a similar manner just yesterday. This girl had been intimate with _her _Draco just hours ago, been held in the embrace that Pansy desperately yearned for, and did all of the things that Draco refused to do with her. Why should she feel sorry for her?

But she did. Staring at Turpin, Pansy could plainly see herself at her most pathetic. She couldn't help it, and she sure as hell didn't like it, but it was there.

Damn.

Sighing, Pansy said quietly, "Why don't you go find your boyfriend? He's probably looking for you."

Turpin's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in defensive fury. "Jacob is none of your business," she said, angry once again.

_And Draco is none of yours._

Pansy struggled to remain patient. "No, but this can't be good for your relationship. If you aren't careful, somebody else is going to come along and snatch him up, and I promise you that Draco isn't going to be there to fall back on," she said slowly, thinking of Blaise and the interest that she had expressed earlier in Moon.

Turpin's lower lip began to tremble, although whether it was because she was holding back the urge to cry or the urge to punch Pansy in the face, she didn't know.

"Somebody like you?" Turpin said in a low, taunting voice.

Well, that settled _that _question. "No!" Pansy denied automatically. Merlin, how dense was she?

"Look, Parkinson," Turpin said heatedly. "If this is just some tactic to keep me away from Draco—"

"It's not!" she insisted, her cheeks burning uncomfortably at the accusation.

"Because if it is, that's just pathetic," Turpin continued. "Everyone knows that you carry a torch for him, but you can't seriously believe that keeping other girls away is going to win him."

Okay, Pansy's sympathy only went so far. Her anger and frustration mounted to an almost blinding level. "You want to talk about pathetic, Turpin?" she asked dangerously. "How about a _pathetic _Ravenclaw who gives it up to the first bad boy that comes along to challenge her boring little relationship, and then follows said bad boy around like a lost, _pathetic _puppy even when it's ridiculously obvious that he was just using her _and _her best friend for sex?"

Turpin gaped at her, crossing her arms in a defensive self-hug. For a second, it looked as if she were actually going to cry. "You're a liar," she whimpered, taking a step back.

Yes, she was in most cases. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of them. Pansy instantly felt bad. For crying out loud! Why couldn't she learn to control herself? What was the matter with her? "I shouldn't have said that," she said carefully. "But you shouldn't—"

"Shut up!" Turpin screamed.

Pansy flinched as her voice echoed loudly around them.

Turpin took another step away from her. "He— He wouldn't do that." she mumbled, seemingly to herself.

Pansy eyed her warily. She took in the other girl's distressed state, and— damn it all — Pansy felt guilty. She wondered if she should go against her instincts and lie.

"Draco cares about me," Turpin insisted, eyes focused on some far off spot as she hugged herself.

_Yes_, Pansy decided. Lying would be the decent thing to do. "I'm sure Draco didn't mean—"

Turpin abruptly refocused on Pansy and pointed an accusing finger at her. "I'm going to tell Draco about what you said about him."

Pansy stared at her in disbelief. Was she joking? "Look, I didn't—"

Turpin shook her head rapidly. "And then we'll see how he feels about you when he finds out that you're trying to scare girls away from him."

"Will you just shut up and listen to me?" Pansy cried in exasperation.

"I'm not listening to anymore of your lies!" Turpin yelled. She turned around and bolted back the way she had come, disappearing from view.

"Turpin!" Pansy called urgently. "Hold on a minute!"

Silence.

Pansy groaned and slumped back against the wall, clutching the painting tightly against her. She gave a ragged sigh and squeezed her eyes shut. It seemed that Blaise wasn't the only one in need of a gag.

"_Garce_," she muttered to herself, feeling a heavy dose of self-loathing. Sometimes Pansy really hated herself.

But, damn it. Turpin didn't even give her a chance to lie! And if this was anyone's fault, well, then it was Draco's.

Draco.

Pansy felt a mixture of different, but equally intense, feelings rush over her at the thought of him. The constant, yet helpless ache inside of her deepened. He must have been really amazing if Turpin was already down there in the dungeons seeking him out. Inevitable mental pictures flooded her mind and the pain worsened.

But anger quickly rushed in to replace the sadness. It wasn't fair. Why did Draco have to seek out stupid girls like Turpin, when he already had Pansy, who was ready and more than willing? Was he really so blind? Or was he really just a selfish prick?

She was leaning toward the latter at the moment. Turpin wasn't the first girl to come crying to her, wanting to know why Draco had been ignoring them. He had to know what he was doing to these girls!

To Pansy.

Why was she even his friend? Why didn't she just tell him to bugger off and leave her alone? Why did she let him constantly get away with treating people like this? He was always putting her in this position and she _hated_it! Why not just cut her losses and move on?

Because you can't stay away, her mind reminded her.

"_Merde_," she whispered, rubbing her eyes. A headache was definitely coming on.

Pansy suddenly realized just how pathetic she was, standing in a dark passageway, moping over Draco Malfoy, the notorious slut, when he was probably getting off at that very moment with someone else.

Gritting her teeth in resolve, Pansy forced all thoughts of Draco from her mind and shoved herself away from the wall. No longer excited, she trudged the rest of the way to Snape's chambers.

Coming upon the familiar ornate doorway, Pansy raised her free hand and knocked lightly. When the door didn't open immediately, she knocked harder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," muttered a voice from within.

Pansy stared at her feet as she waited, realizing that her shoes were in definite need of some shiner. She would have to corner a house elf about that.

The door suddenly cracked open far enough for Professor Snape's scowl to become visible.

"What do you— Oh, Miss Parkinson," he said, his voice lightening considerably when he realized who it was. "What can I do for you?"

Pansy held up her painting, attempting a grin. "I finished," she saidsheepishly.

Snape opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside. "Well, then by all means, do come in."

Pansy hurried past him into the room and immediately went over to the empty easel and placed her painting onto it. If she had ever needed some praise, it was now. She turned to Snape expectantly.

"Well?" she demanded.

Snape chuckled and said, "At least give me a moment to look it over. I believe that there is some butterbeer in my fridge if you want to help yourself."

Pansy would have much preferred to closely examine Snape's face as he evaluated her work, but she obediently walked over to his cupboard and pulled out two glasses. She went to his fridge and pulled out a jug of butterbeer.

But as she was closing it back up, Pansy had a sudden thought.

Hesitating, she shot a furtive glance at Snape. He was solely focused on the painting.

Biting her lip, she bent over and did a quick search of the fridge, looking for any sign of alcohol. There was a bottle of what appeared to be sherry and something that definitely resembled a shrunken head, but other than that, nothing.

Pansy sighed in relief and closed the fridge door.

"An interesting idea to do the entire piece in shades of blue," Snape said thoughtfully. "Discounting the eyes and tears, of course."

Pansy carried the glasses of butterbeer over and handed one of them to him. "Interesting as in brilliant?" she suggested hopefully.

Snape gave her a tolerant eyebrow quirk, but he turned back to the canvas without answering.

"I didn't want her to come from any particular house," Pansy explained nervously. "And I thought that keeping everything in blue would make the piece universal."

"Hmn. Well, she's definitely not a Slytherin," Snape mused.

"Definitely not," Pansy agreed. A Slytherin would never be caught doing something as weak as crying. Not if they could help it.

When Snape didn't elaborate, Pansy began to shift her feet impatiently. "Well?" she prompted. "What do you think?"

Snape held his hand up to signal for silence, his eyes never leaving the painting.

Frustrated, Pansy plopped down in the large emerald armchair and propped her chin up on her knuckle. Her preferred reaction would have been for Snape to take one look at her piece and cry, "_Remarkable_!"

But, naturally, he never did that.

_Memo to self: Get New Mentor._

She had to smirk at the idea of finding someone more qualified than Snape as an art advisor.

Pansy took a moment to admire her potions professor. He was out of his nasty vampirish robes and wearing an appealing black turtleneck with flattering black slacks. She highly doubted that anyone else would share her opinion, but Pansy strongly believed that Snape had a very appealing bum when he wasn't hiding it from the general population. Maybe other girls would see what she saw if he would freaking wash that hair and stop hiding that marvelous ass—

"Please stop ogling me, Miss Parkinson. It's rather distracting."

Pansy choked on her butterbeer. Oops. Blushing, she gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

Snape shook his head and returned to the painting.

Pansy groaned inwardly in shame. What would any of her roommates say if they knew that she had a tiny crush on Hogwarts' closest thing to a dementor? Well, Blaise would probably agree with her, and then she would seduce Snape just to prove to Pansy that she could. Evil wench.

"I presume that you were distressed when you started this?"

Pansy looked up from swirling her drink in alarm. "What?"

Snape indicated to the silver tears on the blue cheeks. "Your subject is obviously in pain."

"That doesn't mean anything," she said uncomfortably. "It's just a picture."

"You don't paint a picture with this amount of depth without feeling a connection with your subject."

"Maybe I do," Pansy said curtly.

Snape looked skeptical. "You just woke up one morning and decided to paint a sobbing first year in shades of melancholy blue?"

"I like blue," she said defensively, giving him a disgruntled look.

Snape smirked. "I take it Mr. Malfoy is behaving like himself again," he said casually.

Pansy's jaw dropped. "Wha..."

"I wonder if Draco realizes that all of your subjects have his eyes," Snape observed offhandedly.

Startled, Pansy just stared at him. How did he know?

Snape chuckled to himself and took a drink of his butterbeer.

Pansy glared at him. She was getting increasingly sick of hearing Draco's name, and sometimes Snape was almost frighteningly perceptive.

"So, what do you think?" she asked pointedly, steering the conversation back to where she wanted it.

He gave her a rare smile that lightened Pansy's mood considerably. She couldn't help but feel special knowing that she was one of the few who got to see him smile. Well, smiling in a way that didn't strike fear into the innocent and hint at terrible things, anyway.

"Well, it's an exceptional piece," Snape said finally, becoming serious again.

Pansy grinned. You couldn't get much better praise than that from him. "I have your approval, then?"

Snape grunted.

"I'll take that as a yes," Pansy said under her breath.

Snape finished off his drink and put it in the sink. "Would you care to see _my _latest piece?"

"Please," Pansy said excitedly.

Snape disappeared into his bedroom while Pansy put her painting on the sofa to make room for his on the easel. He reappeared moments later.

Pansy stared at the canvas, immediately full of awe and inadequacy. "It's beautiful," she breathed. Snape had done the Battle of Nema, a famous mêlée between two groups of Veela.

Snape smirked. "Glad you think so."

She continued to stare at it, taking in the meticulous details. Snape's skills never ceased to amaze her. The startled look on one of the Veela's face as another one bore down on her was disturbingly life-like.

"How do you do it?" she asked softly.

Snape chuckled, again. "Years of careful instruction and training, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy had to wonder when he had found the time. She knew that he had joined the Death Eaters immediately after graduation from Hogwarts, but after that her knowledge of him waned thin. Her parents refused to talk about him, and Draco had never volunteered any information, supposing that Lucius Malfoy had ever told him anything. Obviously something big must have happened for him to be working at Hogwarts under Dumbledore, but hell if she knew what.

"Professor Snape?" she asked abruptly. He had been a Slytherin once. He had to know what was going on right under his nose in his former house. He knew Pansy's parents. Hell, he probably knew _all _of their parents. So, he would also know about the marriage contracts floating around and the promotion that was up in the air. Maybe he could...

"Yes?"

Pansy looked up into his curious gaze and faltered. Who was she kidding? If Snape knew, then he had to disapprove. For whatever reason, he had gotten out and it didn't appear that he had any intention of getting back in. Of course, there really wouldn't be much point to that since the Dark Lord would probably kill him if he even tried. Traitors and all that.

"What is it?" Snape repeated.

"Err— nothing," she said quickly. This was too dangerous a time to go shooting her mouth off. Worst-case scenario would be the professor immediately hauling her off to Dumbledore with her confession and then a life sentence in Azkaban.

Snape frowned slightly in confusion, but he didn't press her.

Pansy realized with a sinking feeling that she would probably never be able to ask him what she wanted to. It was a real shame since it would have been nice to hear some advice from the person she admired most. And who better to give her advice than a former Death Eater?

"Isn't it past curfew?" Snape asked suddenly, glancing at his watch.

She stared at him wistfully for a moment before going to retrieve her painting. Sometimes life really sucked.

* * *

The next day, the Slytherin-Gryffindor Herbology class found themselves standing at the entrance to the school gardens.

Normally, Pansy would have relished the chance to spend the morning in the gardens, but she had woken up in a bad mood, and Draco was doing nothing to improve her disposition.

"Oh, come on, Pansy. It's _funny_."

The bastard actually found the whole Turpin fiasco to be hilarious.

She glared at him. "I cannot believe you."

"You keep saying that," Draco said, sounding bored.

"You weren't there! You didn't hear the things that—"

Draco abruptly clamped his hand over her mouth. "Why are you making such a big deal over this? You never gave a damn about Turpin before."

Pansy smacked his hand away. "Do you really not care about anybody but yourself? That poor girl nearly had a nervous breakdown in front of me! And it was _your _fault, you complete arse."

Draco gave Pansy a look. "She knew what she was doing."

"So did you."

"This conversation is beginning to annoy me," Draco said testily.

"Yeah, well, _viens-en à bout_," she grumbled, folding her arms.

"All right, class," Professor Sprout announced. "Either you or your partner should have brought a pot from the greenhouse. Now, everybody follow me."

The students all trudged after her into the gardens. She led them into the center, where a huge fountain was bubbling contentedly. She hopped up on the edge so that she was high above everyone else.

"Can you all hear me? Yes? All right, then. Your assignment today is to locate and pot a temula. You'll all be raising them over the next few weeks."

Confused, Pansy turned to Blaise. "What the heck is a temula?"

Blaise opened her mouth to answer, but Professor Sprout was talking again.

"Can anyone tell me what purposes fully-grown temulas can serve?"

Granger's hand immediately shot up, but Blaise didn't bother waiting to be called on. "When mixed with the proper ingredients, temula sap can cure severe burns caused by both curses themselves as well as curse backfires." She gave Granger a smug look.

"That's correct, Ms. Zabini," Professor Sprout said. "The soil here is exceptional for temulas, which is why the Magical Health Organization has asked the Headmaster to have you harvest the plants here for them."

"The MHO? Isn't that the new Ministry branch?" Theodore Nott asked suspiciously.

"Yes, it is," Sprout said evenly, looking slightly tense. "The MHO was created as an extension of St. Mungo's. They're in charge of aiding the victims of these dark times. They also work with manufacturers to create the healing products that the aurors are required to carry around with them while they are on duty."

The Slytherins all exchanged looks. Almost as if following an instinct, they all drew closer together. Since they were already lurking at the back of the group anyway, Pansy hoped nobody would take any notice of this.

"Did you hear that?" Theodore said in a low voice. "Aurors!"

"They're using us to build up their supplies," Draco said under his breath so that only they could hear him. The scowl on his face showed that he was fuming inwardly.

"Is this some kind of loyalty test?" Alyssa whispered.

"Of course not," Blaise answered quietly, keeping her eyes on the professor. "They already know where our loyalties lie. This is somebody's idea of a joke. Having us contribute to the antidotes that are probably going to override our own curses."

Pansy looked around nervously. This was not the place to discuss this.

"Should we do the assignment?" Crabbe asked, looking at Draco for guidance.

"We have to," Goyle answered for him. "Don't we?"

"Well, I'm not doing it," Theodore murmured furiously. "They can make their own fucking antidotes. Not like it's going to help them,anyway."

"Brilliant," Draco snapped. "Then they'll really know whose side you're on!"

"They already know!" he challenged.

"No, they suspect. That's a completely different thing."

Pansy couldn't take this anymore. Somebody was going to overhear them. Or Sprout was going to realize that they weren't listening to her anymore.

"You're all being bloody paranoid," she snapped suddenly, causing them to all to look at her. "They're just plants for crissakes!"

"You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you," Draco muttered. There were murmurs of agreement from everyone except Millicent, who was remaining quiet.

"_They _aren't out to get _us_," she contested. "It's the other way around." As soon as she'd said it, Pansy began to feel really uneasy. This was getting out of hand. It was one thing to know that you were going to be on the enemy's side in a year or two, but the constant suspicion in the place where they all slept was too much.

"Like hell they aren't," Raquel growled. "They know _exactly _what we're all thinking."

Pansy gave her an irritated look. "Maybe they wouldn't know if you would stop being so freaking obvious."

"_I'm _not—"

"It doesn't matter how you act," Theodore interjected. "Even if we acted like the perfect little Gryffindors, they'd still treat us like the enemy."

Because they _were _the enemy. Pansy frowned and whispered angrily, "Would you all just shut up already? You're being ridiculous and I'm going to prove it."

Her hand shot up before she could even think about it.

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson?" Professor Sprout asked, obviously annoyed at being interrupted during her lecture.

"Are we the only class that's gathering temulas?" Pansy asked.

A few of the Gryffindors turned around to give her confused looks.

Professor Sprout's mouth became a thin line, almost seeming disapproving, before she answered, "Yes.The departmentbelieve that this class should collect enough temulas today to satisfy the MHO."

Pansy felt a sinking feeling. "Oh."

Blaise waited until Sprout had gone back to her lecture before snarling, "That's such utter bullshit. If the MHO really needed them so badly then they would want to get as many as possible. If they aren't singling us out, then why not have the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class do it?"

"You said yourself that our help wouldn't do them any good, anyway," Pansy said dejectedly. "So what difference does it make?"

"All right! Get together with your partners and find those temulas!" Professor Sprout announced, interrupting their conversation.

Theodore quickly raised his hand. "Professor?"

"What is it, Nott?" she asked.

"Since there are an uneven amount of students, can I be in Pansy's group?" he asked hopefully.

Pansy gave him an annoyed look.

Sprout rolled her eyes. "You've already been assigned to work with Mr. Goyle and Ms. Patil."

"But-"

"I said _no_, Mr. Nott!"

Grinning cockily, Theodore shrugged at Pansy as if to say that there was nothing that he could do, before grabbing the shovel from Goyle and strutting over to Patil.

Pansy shook her head in disgust. The nerve of some guys.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Sprout demanded of the class. "Get together with your partners!"

Exchanging final looks, the Slytherins began to disperse and join with their partners until Pansy and Draco were the only ones left.

Pansy looked over at Thomas, wondering if he had any intention of coming over to join her. He was standing with Finnigan and Brown and they were all laughing about something.

She noticed that Draco was looking over there, too, with a calculating look on his face.

"All right. What are you thinking?" she asked apprehensively.

Draco smirked. "Just thinking that being paired up with Finnigan might not be such a bad thing after all."

Pansy was confused at first, until she realized that Draco was actually looking at Brown and not at Finnigan.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she breathed. Couldn't the guy go two seconds without thinking about sex?

"What?" he asked innocently, finally turning his gaze back to her.

"You've probably already destroyed one relationship this week. Why not leave Finnigan and Brown alone?"

"I'm failing to understand why you've suddenly become so protective of the people in our rival houses," Draco said amusedly.

Pansy decided to ignore that. "Draco, for once in your life, _ne soit pas une salope_."

Draco laughed. "You should have more respect for your future husband."

_Should, but don't_, she thought silently.

"Oh, look," Draco said airily. "A mudblood is heading this way."

Pansy turned and saw Thomas walking toward them. She couldn't help but notice that he walked with a certain confidence that differed from Draco's. Maybe it was the lack of arrogance.

Thomas stopped in front of her and gave Pansy a bright smile. "Hi," he said in a friendly voice. "Um, I guess we're partners."

Draco snorted rudely.

"I guess so," she agreed, giving Draco a warning look.

"Right," Thomas said, eyeing Draco uncertainly.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Are you going to leave Finnigan with all of the work?" Pansy finally asked Draco, hoping that he'd take a hint.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her and then looked directly at Thomas, although he was speaking to Pansy. _"Amuse-toi bien avec ta Sang-de-bourbe,"_he said flippantly.

Thomas frowned. He may not have understood French, but it was obvious that he knew that he was being insulted.

Pansy flinched. Not exactly the way that she wanted to start off a partnership. She was glad that Thomas didn't know that _Sang de bourbe _was French for _Mudblood_.

Draco turned and sauntered off, not even bothering to wait for Finnigan to follow him.

Pansy mentally kicked Draco in his pretty arse before refocusing on Thomas. "Sorry about that," she said contritely.

"Don't worry about it," Thomas grumbled, glaring after Draco.

"Um, I hope that you were listening, because I can't say that I was," she said awkwardly.

Thomas returned his gaze to her and the edge of his mouth curved upward slightly. "Yeah, I noticed."

Pansy had been staring at his full mouth, fascinated that someone could have lips like that, but her eyes snapped back up at his comment. Her eyes narrowed. The Gryffindors _had _noticed. She was going to kill her housemates for their indiscretion. Draco at least should know better.

Thomas appeared confused by her facial expression. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," she answered automatically. "We should get started."

Pansy immediately headed in the direction of her favorite part of the gardens, Thomas falling into step beside her. As soon as she stepped onto the familiar pathway, she felt her tension abate. The trees were blooming and heavy along this trail, providing shade and a sense of protection. Not to mention a certain aesthetic value.

"I love coming out here."

Pansy looked at Thomas in surprise. "You do? What for?"

Thomas laughed lightly. "For the same reason that you do. To draw."

Perplexed, she stopped walking and stared at him. "How do you know that I draw?" she asked, confused.

"I've seen you out here," he said simply.

Pansy tried to search her mind for any memory of ever seeing him out there, but she came up blank. "I've never seen you," she said plainly.

He shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you. You always looked so comfortable and. Well, private."

"So, you've been watching me?" she asked, surprised. Rather than feeling violated, Pansy was somewhat flattered that anyone would notice anything about her. She mostly felt invisible outside of the Slytherin common room.

Thomas gave her a mischievous grin. "I haven't been stalking you or anything."

"I know that," she said quickly, hoping that he couldn't tell that she was slightly disappointed to hear that.

"I know you know that," he said, grinning wider at the obvious blush creeping up her neck.

Pansy eyed him warily. She wasn't sure why she was getting so flustered, but the easy teasing in his eyes wasn't helping. "You said that you draw, too?" she asked uneasily, hoping to steer him back to where she was comfortable.

Thomas nodded and patted the bag hanging at his side affectionately. "I take a notebook with me wherever I go."

"Can I see?" Pansy asked hopefully. It wasn't often that she came across someone with similar interests. She had always known that there must be several other students at Hogwarts who enjoyed art, but none of them spoke to her.

"If you like," he said, actually looking shy as he pulled out the notebook and handed it to her.

Pansy took the offered notebook and opened it with an eager curiosity. The first thing she noticed was that none of Dean's drawings moved either.

She had been expecting to see amateur caricature cartoons sketched randomly over the parchment, but what Pansy actually saw caused her eyes to widen.

It was Professor Sprout. There was no question about it. The picture was so good that it almost resembled a photograph. He had drawn her wearing those ridiculous earmuffs that they had to wear during second year and in her hand was a large mandrake.

"I think that's how I'll always picture her," Thomas said with a nervous laugh as he watched Pansy's face apprehensively.

"What did you use to do this?" she asked curiously, tracing the creases in Sprout's shabby robe with her finger. It definitely wasn't charcoal, but when Pansy lifted her finger some of the color had come off onto her skin just like with charcoal.

"Colored pencils."

Pansy frowned. She had never heard of them.

She turned the page to the next drawing. Professor McGonagall's stern face stared up at her. It was so lifelike that Pansy involuntarily shuddered, remembering that essay that she had yet to start for that class.

"These are amazing," she gushed delightedly.

Thomas smiled at the praise, looking relieved. "Well, I don't know about that," he said modestly.

Pansy flipped through the pages excitedly. Recurring themes with Thomas' work seemed to be their teachers and random objects that had obviously caught his eye. There was an exceptional sketch of somebody's wand lying across a desk.

"You've had training," she observed.

"Not really. I've always liked doing my own thing. My mum and step-dad took me to Italy this past summer, and I spent the entire time in the museums copying the paintings."

Pansy was instantly jealous, both of the trip and of his obviously natural talent. She'd had an assortment of different art instructors since she was eight years old, and it had taken all of them combined to get her skills to where they were, and she was still nowhere near Professor Snape.

"I've always wanted to see the originals in Italy," she admitted, not looking up from the notebook.

"You have?" Thomas asked, obviously surprised.

Pansy nodded.

"But... Well, you _do _know that they were done by... Uh..." he said uncomfortably, suddenly looking anywhere but at her.

Baffled, she just looked at him.

"Never mind," he said quickly.

Pansy had just decided that Thomas was a decidedly odd boy. Shaking her head, she said, "I heard that Italy is beautiful this time of year."

"Oh, it is," Thomas confirmed eagerly, immediately looking comfortable again. "It was almost like coming home." His expression became dreamy as he looked back into his own memories.

Pansy glanced up at him through her lashes discreetly, intrigued by the wistful expression on Thomas' smooth face. Her hand suddenly began to itch with the urge to copy it onto a piece of parchment, and later onto a canvas. There was something about him.

Thomas caught her staring, and Pansy quickly dropped her eyes back to the notebook in her hands as if she had been caught doing something that she shouldn't. Color tinted her cheeks.

"This one's different from the others," she observed interestedly. The picture in front of her was of some girl who Pansy didn't know. She was bent over a piece of parchment, a frown on her face. There was nothing that immediately stood out as extraordinary about it at first glance, but the longer she stared at it, the more seemed to jump out at her. There was something _wrong _with her. The picture was dark.

"Which one?" Thomas asked, leaning over her to see the drawing.

Pansy stiffened at the close proximity. He was so close that his arm was almost pressing into her.

Uh, it doesn't look like the others. Pictures, I mean," she stuttered, wanting to move away, but afraid of appearing rude.

"Oh, yeah," Thomas said, smiling affectionately down at the sketch. "It looks different because I didn't draw this. My friend Terry did."

Pansy frowned. "Why was he drawing in your notebook?"

Thomas shrugged. "He was out of parchment, so I let him use mine."

"He's good, too," she said quietly. "Different from you, but still good."

"You should see his room," Thomas said amusedly. "Pictures everywhere. Drives his roommates crazy."

The space between them suddenly seemed to shrink as Thomas stared down at her, making Pansy feel small. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she finally moved away from him.

Something on Thomas' face suggested disappointment, but he smiled again, and the look was gone. "Any chance that you brought _your _notebook?" he asked.

"I don't have one," she said quickly.

Thomas frowned. "But I've seen you in the groves—"

"I meant that I don't keep a notebook," she clarified. "I only sketch on parchment to get an idea of what I'm going to paint later. I just throw away the sketches."

"You paint?" he asked, sounding shocked.

"Yes," she said, frowning at his tone. Why was it so surprising?

Thomas suddenly gave her a dazzling grin that sent a surprising, warm shiver down Pansy's back. "I didn't know that."

"Why would you?" she asked, annoyed by her own reaction to him.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't."

"All right, then," she muttered, turning another page of the seemingly endless notebook.

Thomas was silent for a moment before suddenly blurting out, "Would you be interested in joining an art club?"

Surprised, Pansy stared at him. Where did that come from? "What?"

"Terry and I know of a few other kids who are into this stuff, too, and we've been trying to round them up to start a club," he explained, watching her face closely.

"A club?" Pansy said dubiously, frowning. "I don't think so."

Thomas looked disappointed again. "Oh. Well, why not?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "I just—"

"It wouldn't just be a bunch of kids slacking off and occasionally doodling to pass the time," Thomas said hurriedly. "You saw Terry's drawing. It would only be a few of us, and we're all serious about our art."

Pansy was still unsure. She highly doubted that these other kids would even _want _her in their club, and maybe she didn't want to be there, anyway.

But at the same time, she couldn't help but be somewhat intrigued by the idea of having others to share her passion with.

"You could just check it out," Thomas suggested hopefully. "Our first meeting is going to be on Saturday at three in Professor Hector's room."

"Where's that?" she asked grudgingly.

"Third floor, down the hall, and to the right of the painting of those freaky vicars," he said. "Terry and I couldn't agree on a meeting length, so we're just going to go with it and see how long everyone wants to stick around."

Pansy hesitated, and Thomas said almost pleadingly, "Just come to the first meeting. Couldn't hurt to have a look, would it?"

He had a point. And why not? It was only one meeting, and she could always change her mind. "I suppose I'll take a look," she ceded.

Thomas' mouth immediately broke into _that _smile again. The one that showed all of his teeth. "Great," he said excitedly.

His smile turned out to be contagious, and Pansy was disturbed to find herself grinning back at him. He just seemed so excited that _she _was going to be there, and it caused a rare and flattered feeling to go through her.

They continued to smile at each other until Pansy felt the need to unnecessarily clear her throat again. Definitely blushing this time, she dropped her gaze back to the notebook that was proving a very convenient diversion. A fluttery feeling was in her stomach and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

Pansy's hand froze when she suddenly came across a sketch of Professor Snape that was particularly unflattering. The smile wilted off of her face as she stared at it.

The dark mark was on his arm.

"That's supposed to be oil dripping off of him, I take it?" Pansy said coldly, no longer excited. She felt vaguely sick.

Thomas noticed her change in demeanor and said anxiously, "It's just a picture."

Pansy didn't reply to that. For a moment she had forgotten whom she was talking to. Not only was this boy a Muggleborn Gryffindor, but he was also in Potter's inner ring. What else did she expect?

A mental memo went to her head about remembering that her fellow Slytherins were the only ones that she should ever feel comfortable with. Well, Draco anyway.

Too bad he wasn't into art.

Pansy handed the notebook back to Thomas and asked frostily, "So, what are we supposed to be doing?"

Thomas' face fell at her tone. "First thing we have to do is find one of them," he said unhappily, referring to the temulas.

Pansy turned abruptly and continued down the pathway at a brisk pace that forced Thomas to almost jog to keep up with her.

"Look, about the picture—"

"I think that we should get off of the pathway if we're going to find one," Pansy said curtly, cutting him off. "I've never seen a temula before, so they must be hidden somewhere."

She began walking in a different direction that led them into the thicket of trees.

Unwilling to give up, Thomas said, "I know that you probably like him, but—"

"Look! Is that one?" she cried randomly, pointing at some indistinct place in front of them, hoping to distract him.

"Err, no. That's a mushroom. But, Pansy—"

Pansy gaped at him, plainly startled. "What did you call me?" she asked sharply.

Before Thomas could answer, there was a rustling noise behind them. Pansy turned to see Blaise and Granger shove their way through some low brush.

"Found one of the little buggers, yet?" Blaise asked. She was carrying their pot in her arms.

"Nope," Pansy answered honestly.

"Well, _I _have," Blaise said smugly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Let me see it, then, so that I'll know what the blasted things look like." She took the pot from Blaise and stared into it.

"When you're finished, could _I _please see it?" Granger asked Pansy wearily, giving Blaise an annoyed look.

Pansy and Blaise both ignored her.

"_These _are temulas?" Pansy said, wrinkling her nose in contempt. The tiny plant in front of her strongly resembled a small cabbage. Her mother's wedding ring was twice its size.

Thomas moved closer so that he could see it himself. "Where did you find it?" he asked.

Blaise gave him a disdainful look and didn't bother answering him.

Pansy sighed. "Where did you find it, Blaise?" she repeated.

"They like the shade," Granger grumbled, kicking at the dirt with her shoe. It was obvious that she wasn't pleased with the current company. Well, that went three ways.

Blaise scowled at her. "Nobody was talking to you, Mudblood!"

Both Granger and Thomas gave her cold looks. If Weasely had been around, he probably would have done something very ungentlemanly to Blaise, and nobody would have made a move to stop him.

"Fine!" Granger spat. She turned and spoke pointedly to Thomas. "I suggest checking over there, Dean," she said, pointing in the direction of a small cluster of bushes.

Eyebrows raised, Thomas walked over and bent down onto his knees so that he could see underneath the bushes.

"Hey! I think that's one of them!" he cried.

Sharing a disgruntled look with Blaise, Pansy followed him over to the shady area.

"Well pull it out."

"I... can't!" he gasped, tugging at something under the bush. "It's stuck! Help me!"

Pansy eyed the wet earth with distaste. "I don't think so."

Thomas tilted his head to the side and gave her a look. She raised a single eyebrow at him in response. After that picture of Professor Snape, she wasn't feeling too inclined to help him out.

Thomas sighed and said patiently, "The sooner we get this thing potted, the sooner we can be done for the day."

Logic.

Damn.

Pansy groaned for effect but got down on her knees next to him anyway. The mud underneath her made a squishing noise, no doubt seeping into her robes. Pansy tried not to wince, but she could just hear what her mother would say if she saw her daughter in this position.

She leaned down and peered underneath the bush. It was a temula all right.

Thomas had shoved the dirt around enough so that the roots were visible. The roots were surprisingly large. Thomas had a grip on one of them. Bending even lower and supporting herself on one hand, Pansy reached underneath and grabbed another root.

"Pull!"

They both gritted their teeth and tugged, but the plant didn't so much as budge.

"Damn it!" Pansy swore.

"You can't just pull it out," Granger explained impatiently, marching over to them.

"Then, how?" Thomas asked.

"Talk to it," Granger said simply.

They stared at her. "Huh?"

Granger shook her bushy hair in annoyance. "They're suspicious of people. You have to get it to trust you before it will come out of the ground."

Thomas blinked at her blankly. "Once again, what now?"

"Oh, for... Introduce yourselves!" Granger snapped.

Thomas smirked and then bent over again and said, "Hi, there," in an amused voice.

Nothing happened.

"You try," Thomas said to her.

Pansy raised a skeptical eyebrow but she decided to play along. "Um, hello," she said to it, feeling foolish.

To both of their shock, the little cabbage let out a gasp and flexed its tiny leaf folds.

"Holy crap!" Pansy cried, almost slipping face first into the mire.

Blaise laughed openly at her.

"You could have warned me," Pansy said accusingly.

"I know," Blaise said happily.

Thomas reached under and tried pulling the plant out of the ground again, but with no success. He frowned and considered the plant thoughtfully. "Maybe we should get better acquainted with it first."

Pansy grunted her agreement. There was disgusting, slick mud in between her fingers now.

"Go for it," he said with a grin.

Not amused, she glowered at him. "Why me?"

"Because it obviously likes you," he said, smiling at her.

"Well, I don't like _it_," she grumbled childishly.

"Maybe if you gave it a chance," he said seriously, staring straight into her eyes.

Pansy glared back. "I don't _have_ to give it a chance," she said through gritted teeth.

"No, but you _should_. If you don't, you could be missing out on something, and you'll regret it later," he said earnestly.

"There's nothing to miss out on!" she shot back.

"Any day now," Blaise said loudly, bringing an unofficial end to the conversation.

Pansy was actually grateful to her.

"Go ahead," Thomas repeated, no longer looking at her.

She sighed, unhappy with having to be the one to do it. "So. You're a plant," she said for lack of anything better to say. She really wished that she didn't have to do this in front of Blaise.

The temula stretched again, but didn't make any noise.

"Try again," Thomas said.

She hesitated and then said, "My name is Pansy and this here is Thomas."

"Dean," he corrected automatically.

Pansy gave him a startled look but was saved from commenting by the temula. It squeaked softly, almost as if it were greeting them. She was tempted to smile. The stupid thing was almost cute.

"Pansy and I like to draw," Thomas contributed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Pansy flinched at the casual use of her name. She didn't have to look to feel Blaise's sharp eyes boring into her back.

"Yes, and Pansy tends to get defensive easily," he continued, ignoring her indignant expression. "But I bet that she'll come around eventually. We just have to give her time."

Mouth open, she stared at him incredulously. What the hell?

The temula made another noise and the roots wiggled slightly.

Thomas kept going. "I'm hoping that Pansy will show me her paintings so that I can get to know her better. Maybe then I'll be able to understand why she's so private and closed off."

One of the temula's roots actually lifted out of the ground and shook as if waking from a long sleep.

Thomas laughed. "I think that we should try now."

But Pansy didn't move. There was no way in _hell _that she was going to let him see her paintings now. And Blaise was really going to cut into her later for this. What the heck was he doing?

Still avoiding her eyes, Thomas reached forward and pulled the unresisting temula out of the ground. He sat up and retrieved the pot from its place near their feet.

Pansy risked a glance out of the corner of her eye at the other girls. She instantly regretted it. Blaise's eyes met hers and Pansy could actually feel the waves of calculating suspicion rolling off of her. Not good.

Shuddering inwardly, she looked at Granger, who was glaring angrily at Thomas as he carefully covered the roots of the plant with the soil in the pot, making sure that it was comfortable.

"Well, that's it!" Thomas said triumphantly, cradling the pot, as he stood upright.

Frowning, Pansy stood up. Wiping her hands on the front of her already dirty robe, she grabbed her wand from the inside pocket and muttered, "_Feo tarsus_," over the soiled garment and then over her hands. Satisfied, she smoothed out the fabric, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes. She didn't bother fixing Thomas' robes.

"Good," Granger said, grabbing her own pot out of Blaise's arms while she was distracted. Not looking back, she took off in the direction of the clearing where the professor was waiting.

Pansy followed her, not waiting for Thomas. She didn't know what to say to him. Blaise fell into step beside her.

"What the hell was that about?" she spat.

"How should I know?" Pansy said angrily.

Blaise cocked her head to the side as she studied Pansy's flustered state. The calculated look was back on her face. "If I didn't know better—"

"You don't!" Pansy snapped.

When they got back to the large fountain, Pansy headed straight for Draco, who was standing with Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco's upper lip was curled as he looked down into his pot. "So much for the Muggleborn-eating plant theory. These things are pathetic."

"Maybe it likes to snack on their fingers," Crabbe joked awkwardly.

Draco smirked. "Still not as entertaining."

He noticed that Pansy was silent and gave her a questioning look. "What's the matter?"

Pansy had been watching Blaise apprehensively, who was saying something to Alyssa and Raquel that was making them snicker. No doubt she was telling them about the things that Thomas had said, probably adding a few of her own details into the mix for entertainment value. She gave Draco a weak smile.

"Nothing."

He looked skeptical, but the professor had started squawking at Longbottom, so he didn't have a chance to ask, again.

"Don't go poking at them! How would you like it if somebody was poking at you like that?"

Longbottom obviously didn't know how to respond to that. He gave his partner a helpless look, but Brown merely shrugged at him.

"I trust that everyone has successfully located and potted a temula?" she asked the class. "Yes? Good. Now, label your pots and put them on the counter in the greenhouse. Then you're free to go! We'll continue our work with the temulas next week."

The Gryffindors turned and trudged up to the greenhouse, some still covered in mud. The Slytherins purposely walked slower, holding back so that they could talk.

Pansy sighed as Millicent hurried up next to her. She had been expecting this.

"I think that it's time for another Slytherin meeting," Draco said solemnly.

"After classes?" Theodore asked.

"No. We have Quidditch practice."

"Again?" Goyle cried, aghast.

Draco gave him a sharp look. "Yes, again. And again until Potter'shead is finally smashed in by one of your blasted bludgers!"

"So when's the meeting?" Theodore asked impatiently.

"I'll let you know," Draco said.

"Bloody ridiculous," Pansy muttered loudly.

They ignored her.

When they reached the greenhouse, Pansy waited outside while Draco put his temula on the counter. When he reemerged, they both began their way back up to the castle together.

"Did you manage to de-virginize Brown?" Pansy asked sardonically, still unhappy with him.

Draco laughed. "I wasn't serious, Pansy. Give me some credit. Touching a blood-traitor like Brown would be like fondling a blast-ended skrewt! It was just funny provoking Finnigan's Irish temper."

Pansy shook her head, torn between relief and disgust. She opened her mouth to chastise him, but she suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. Before she had even turned around, Thomas had pushed a piece of parchment into her hand. "So that you don't forget," he said.

Draco snatched it out of her hand before Pansy could read it. He scanned it quickly, and then gave Thomas a malevolent glare. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

Pansy grabbed it back from him to read it for herself. It was the directions to the club meeting and the time.

"You don't give up, do you?" she asked, exasperated.

Thomas just grinned, and then he rushed off to join his friends.

"What's going on?" Draco asked angrily. "Why is Thomas giving you notes?"

Pansy quickly explained about the club.

Draco sneered. "There's no way that you're going."

She frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. This is not the time to be joining some Muggleborn-friendly club, Pansy."

"It's about _art_," she said defensively. "Not politics."

Draco gave her a look. "It's always about politics."

Pansy shook her head and stuffed the note into her pocket. "Well, I never said that I was going anyway."

"Good."

"But I _might_," she said quickly.

Draco looked exasperated. "Why in hell would you do that?"

Pansy thought about it and decided that it might be worth it just to prove Thomas wrong about the things that he'd said about her. She reminded herself that it had absolutely nothing to do with the way that he had smiled at her.

"Pansy?"

"What?"

"Why are you blushing?"

* * *

**Author's Note Numero Dos:** Here are the French translations: 

**_T'es incroyable_:** You're unbelievable.

**_Je te verrai plus tard_:** I'll see you later.

**_Pourquoi suis-je amoureuse d'un salaud_:** Why am I in love with a slut?

**_Garce_:** Bitch.

**_Merde_:** Damn it.

**_Viens-en à bout_:** Get over it.

**_Ne soit pas une salope_:** Don't be a slut.

**_Amuse-toi bien avec ta Sang-de-bourbe_:** Have fun with your Mudblood.

Again, thanks to** Leera** for her help!

And thanks to **Switch,** Lour**, Tarabella,** Freakishly Human,** Cindy, **Lilybee2003**, Beatrice2005,** Private I**, Varada,** TeleriMaiden**, Amelia,** Mia Narf**, Ambika,** MissS-Thang**, Eva James,** Baabaasheepie**, The Beans are Fried,** Dark Angemon,** Mizneep,** Bittersweetchocolate, and** Lucky-719**, for reviewing!


	3. Of Football and Betrayal

**Disclaimer:** I own Alyssa Nott, Raquel Briggs, Belinda Oakley, Aidan Bromley, and Patcholi Baddock. That's pretty much it.

**Special Note**: This chapter belongs to all of the people who have been oh, so patient while waiting over a year for this chapter. A year! Also, thanks to Genevieve Gaunt for the Pansy-haircut in the _Prisoner of Azkaban_ film. Too cute. A special thanks to my cuz, **Mizneep**, for reading the chapter over and declaring herself a Pansy/Dean shipper. Finally, just remember that this fic was started before _Order of the Phoenix _came out and before I found out that Blaise Zabini is male, so it's definitely AU.

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* * *

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Forgivable Expectations

Chapter 3: Of Football and Betrayal

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends**—**_The Sorting Hat in _Sorcerer's Stone_.

"_I've wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but I still love life. That ridiculous weakness is perhaps one of our most pernicious inclinations. What could be more stupid than to persist in carrying a burden that we constantly want to cast off, to hold our existence in horror, yet cling to it nonetheless, to fondle the serpent that devours us, until it has eaten our heart?" – _Voltaire_, 'Candide.'_

* * *

There was something ironic about having a Slytherin help you with your make-up.

Make-up was just another mask that you wore when you wanted to hide the less than spectacular truth. It was a necessary evil unless you happened to be one of the very few and entirely undeserving girls who had been blessed with natural good looks that didn't require any kind of enhancement.

Those girls didn't matter, though, because they were few and far in between, and make-up was not the most important mask that a Slytherin girl wore. Oh, no. Not by a long shot.

Nonetheless, a mask was a mask, and having your enemy help you to build your defenses against them had to inspire a bit of humor in the situation.

_Irony was a bitch_, Pansy decided.

"Would you hold still?" Alyssa said impatiently, holding the lipstick at a safe distance from Pansy's face.

Pansy did as she was told, if only to keep the lipstick out of her eye. But she couldn't keep her eyes from darting continually back to Draco. He was pacing the room anxiously like a caged panther.

Pansy briefly wondered what Narcissa Malfoy did when her husband got like this, because there was no doubt in her mind that Lucius Malfoy did the same thing when he was upset. Most of Draco's habits seemed to be handed down from his father.

There was a thick tension in the room, not unlike when the owl had arrived the previous evening. It was so thick you could bottle it and sell it for a profit. Although, Pansy couldn't think of a single reason why someone would want to buy pre-bottled tension. It was the idea that counted, anyway.

"They're slowly cutting us down," Theodore said angrily. He was leaning back against Pansy's desk with his arms folded across his chest as he scowled at the room's occupants.

"Part your lips," Alyssa instructed her, tilting Pansy's head up slightly.

"No one wants to admit what's going on, but the evidence iseverywhere," Theodore continued.

"Why would they admit it?" Blaise asked bitterly. "No one's on our side except us."

"Professor Snape?" Crabbe suggested hopefully from his place on the floor.

If Pansy's lips had been available, she would have smiled at him. Yes, they had at least one ally in this godforsaken place.

But Theodore snorted. "My father doesn't trust him, and neither do I."

"Why not?" Raquel asked curiously from where she sat cross-legged on her bed.

"I highly doubt that either he or his father have a decent reason," Draco said dryly. He gave Theodore a contemptuous look. "For anything."

Theodore scowled. "Where was he when the Dark Lord came back? Why didn't he come when he was summoned if he's really on our side?"

The tension in the room tightened again as everyone shifteduncomfortably. This was a very sensitive topic.

But Nott plowed on, nonetheless. "Where was he while our parents endured the Dark Lord's punishments? He was here, of course. Hiding under Dumbledore's robes."

Alyssa nodded in agreement. "Father says that Snape hasn't shown his face at a single Death Eater meeting since the Resurrection. And that was over two years ago."

"No matter what his politic situation is, Snape is still on our side," Pansy injected sternly.

"Political situation? Are you fucking kidding me, Pansy?" Theodore cried incredulously. "We're not talking about fucking politics! These are our lives here!"

Forgetting about her make-up for the moment, Pansy leapt to her feet and faced off against Nott.

"He's the only one who has ever given a damn about us here, you ungrateful sod! If it wasn't for Snape, the Slytherins would probably be stuck cleaning out the Gryffindors' fucking lavatories right about now!"

"It's not like he's had much of a choice, has he?" Theodore countered. "The Dark Lord came back out of the blue, didn't he? If Snape had suddenly started to treat us like the vermin that everyone else does,than our parents would have been on to him, wouldn't they?"

"And what would your parents have done?" Pansy asked sarcastically. "Stormed Hogwarts and taken the traitor down right in his own office? What would your mother have done? Thrown a broche at him? What about your father with that crooked leg of his?"

Twin glares were instantly boring into her. Pansy met them both, angry at their disloyalty for Snape.

"Even with his injury, my father is twice the soldier your father will ever be," Theodore hissed. "He still hasn't managed to make it into the Inner Circle, has he? Perhaps because he has yet to demonstrate any competence."

Pansy's back stiffened at the insult. But before she could hurl a barb back, Draco beat her to it.

"Competence obviously isn't a determining factor of the Inner Circle, Nott, or else your father wouldn't be anywhere near it. But we're veering off topic."

"Yeah. Can we trust Snape or not?" Raquel asked. She directed the question at Draco, who took his time in answering.

He twirled his wand between his fingers and addressed them all without actually looking at any of them. "There are other ways of demonstrating loyalty," he said at last. "Besides attending Death Eater meetings."

"What are you talking about?" Pansy asked, surprised at this turn in the conversation. He couldn't mean…

Draco kept his eyes on his wand. He remained silent for several beats. "Have you ever considered that Snape might actually be a spy?"

Okay, apparently, he did mean that. Pansy's eyes widened. "A spy? You actually think that he's still serving the Dark Lord?"

"I think that he has to be," Draco said smoothly. "The man's been to Malfoy Manor several times over the last few years, and my father wouldn't associate with a traitor." He said this with authority, brooking no room for argument.

"Of course he wouldn't," Pansy agreed smoothly. No one would contradict the integrity of Lucius Malfoy.

But Pansy had been so sure that Snape was no longer a Death Eater.

Then again… If he were a traitor, then it would explain why her parents refused to talk about him. They could have been afraid that Pansy would blow the professor's cover if she knew. It was possible…

"But if Snape is still a Death Eater, how come he's never said anythingabout it to us?" Raquel asked. "He has to know what the rest of the school is trying to do to us! A little guidance would be helpful about now."

Pansy started in surprise at hearing her own thoughts come out of Raquel's mouth. She had been alone with Professor Snape countless times, and he had never once confided anything to her that was even remotely related to the Dark Lord.

"And blow his cover?" Draco shot back. "Why? Because of some stupid little plants?"

"But they're mocking us!" Blaise screeched. "The MHO—"

"Is none of our concern," Draco finished. He paused long enough to give them all his best I'm-in-charge-and-I-know-what-I'm-doing smirk. "The MHO is useless and hardly a threat to us. If bloody temulas are the best that they can come up with than we should be considering this a victory."

Pansy shook her head in amazement. This new, secure attitude was definitely not resembling the barely contained anger she had seen this morning. Apparently Quidditch had more benefits for Draco than just his resultantly attractive physique.

Theodore still seemed far from convinced. "A victory?" he said dubiously. "No, a victory will be when we finally torch this place to the ground."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Theodore always talked about "torching" Hogwarts to the ground. Given the opportunity, she doubted that he'deven know what to do when handed a match.

He continued. "And I don't care what you say about Snape. He still can't be trusted."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Pansy exploded. "Have you not heard a word that Draco or I have said to you?"

"Why are you defending him, Parkinson?" Blaise asked with a mean glint in her eye. "He sure as hell didn't defend you when Dumbledore stripped you of your prefect position."

So, there it was. She had wondered how long it would take for that to come up.

But just because Pansy was prepared for it didn't mean that she was any less furious at its introduction. "My grades fell," she said through gritted teeth.

"Right," Blaise snorted. "I'm sure that it had absolutely _nothing _to do with the fact that they didn't feel they could trust you anymore."

The Slytherins exchanged looks. Pansy clenched her teeth and glared at her feet.

Her grades _had_fallen toward the end of her fifth year, but not enough to justify removal from her position. Hell, Weasely's grades had probably been twice as bad as hers even after the drop, and he still managed to keep his position.

Not to forget that Pansy had also done exceptionally well on her O.W.L.s. Hell, she had even managed to achieve an 'Exceeds Expectations' on her Potions exam, for crissakes! That was no small achievement in itself. Her second year N.E.W.T class was notably small, and her marks had been consistently good in the class. You could say whatever you wanted about Professor Snape's Slytherin bias, but it didn't change the fact that she and Draco were the only Slytherin students in the class, nor the fact that Pansy was only fifth in line for the highest marks, behind Granger, Draco, and two _Ravenclaws._

Nonetheless, no position of authority had ever been offered to her again.

It had been a hard blow to take, especially since Pansy couldn't shake the suspicion that she had been graded a bit harshly that year by the teachers who obviously disapproved of the Inquisitor's Squad and their open support of Umbridge.

God, she missed that woman!

"That was a good year, though, wasn't it?" Alyssa said wistfully.

Yeah, it had been. Thanks to Umbridge, the Slytherins had finally been on top for once; Potter had been banned from Quidditch; and the rest of the student body had finally known what it was like to be completely miserable. Oh, yes. Detentions all around.

Absolutely lovely year.

"And it's over," Draco snapped.

Pansy gave him a sympathetic look. She didn't blame him for halting the trip down memory lane. Draco had been stripped of his position, too, and he had taken it much worse than Pansy. The reason given had been: "Student has not demonstrated the ability to properly handle the privileges nor the position of power given to prefects." They might as well have just slapped him directly in the face.

Fifth year had been retribution for Draco, and talking about it now just brought back the memory of it all being snatched away.

"So, what are we going to do?" Raquel finally asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Draco growled.

"Nothing?" Theodore yelled. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

"What exactly do you propose that we do, Nott? Because I'm not hearing any useful suggestions coming from you!"

Theodore met Draco glare-for-glare, not breaking eye contact even as he spoke. "I think we should leave."

There was silence as the comment suspended in the air around them.

Draco looked just as surprised as everyone else. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Theodore visibly straightened as he became increasingly confident in himself. "It's time that we joined our parents in their service to the Dark Lord. There's a war brewing, and the Dark Lord is going to need us with him."

Pansy stared at him in horror. Leave now?

She glanced around the room to gauge other reactions and saw that Millicent was noticeably shaking with fear. The girl had been attempting to make herself invisible ever since the boys had stormed into their room for this house meeting. It was obvious that she didn't want to be here.

Pansy didn't blame her, either.

"We can't just leave!" she cried.

"Why not?" Theodore countered.

"B-Because!" she sputtered. "That's ludicrous!"

"Why? Who's going to stop us? What can we possibly gain from staying here any longer? We're going to war, Pansy!"

But not, yet!

She looked to Draco for support, but he was staring thoughtfully at Theodore, apparently considering it. Pansy felt dread curl up inside of her stomach.

In that moment, she had visions of a Death Eater wedding, a Death Eater initiation, and a Death Eater burial all occurring for her while the rest of the school sat here and snickered about how the Slytherins had gotten what they deserved.

No. It wasn't fair. Pansy wasn't going to die a fucking dropout. No, none of them were. They were better than that. When she was finally handed her wizarding license, at the enemy's ceremony no less, she was going to smile at each and every one of them who had ever called her pug-face or Slytherin bitch.

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly. "I didn't spend the last six years in this perky, little hell for nothing. I'm going to graduate. With honors, damn it."

Her parents would accept nothing less. There was no way that she was ever going to have to tell them about a failure ever again. Not after last time.

Theodore made a frustrated noise. "But—"

"No," Draco interrupted. "She's right."

The support bestowed upon her a nice sense of relief. She gave Draco a grateful smile.

"If the Dark Lord wanted us with him, now, then he would have summoned us," he said reasonably.

Theodore didn't have an argument for that logic, so he settled for sulking, instead.

"Well, now that matter's settled," Raquel stated briskly, standing up and brushing off each of her hands as if ridding herself of unpleasant residue. "So, you boys can give us some privacy so that we can change." She gave Draco a flirtatious look. "Unless, of course, you would prefer to stay…"

Pansy froze. What was she doing?

"I would," Goyle suggested hopefully.

Raquel gave him a baleful look, and Goyle blushed brightly before escaping from the room. Crabbe soon followed behind him.

Pansy glanced warily at Theodore, expecting similar rude interest. But he excited the room without so much as a glance at her, stilllooking disgruntled about the results of the meeting.

Draco, however, didn't look perturbed at all. He was making a show of considering Raquel's offer. "Tempting…"

Pansy gave him a death glare. He'd promised.

She caught his eye and Draco's gleamed with amusement as he asked her, "_Vous n'aimez pas l'idée d'étant regardé, mon cher?" _

Pansy gave him a false smile. "_Pas par vous. Maintenant, partir avant que j'écris à votre mère de votre comportement,"_ she said sweetly.

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You wouldn't."

Pansy's smile widened. "_Voulez-vous parier?"_

With a dramatic sigh, Draco shook his head. He gave Raquel a remorseful look. "Sorry, but Pansy has made it clear that I'm unwelcome."

Pansy snorted.

"Who said anything about Pansy?" Raquel pouted, giving Draco her best coy look.

Pansy promptly crossed the room to her desk and wrote herself a quick note.

_Memo to self: Move Raquel up on enemy list._

She glanced up and realized that Draco was grinning openly at her as if he knew what she'd written. She studiously tossed her head and ignored him.

_Memo to self: Draco is a slut._

Draco laughed and said, "I'll see you ladies downstairs." With a last wink at Pansy, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

"Damn," Raquel said. "For a moment there, I thought he might actually stay."

Pansy rolled her eyes again and then studied herself in the mirror above her desk, dubiously checking Alyssa's work. If Draco wanted to see Raquel naked, then all he would have to do is go into the boy's lavatory and look at the inappropriate sketch of her on the tile.

"You know, I hate it when you two slip into French," Raquel said flippantly as she pulled her Slytherin robes over her head. "It's very annoying."

Pansy nodded as if she cared what bothered Raquel, and then wrote,

_Memo to self: Speak more often in French._

Feeling satisfied with herself, Pansy stuffed all of her memos into their box and then charmed the lock.

Alyssa came up behind her and watched her in the mirror. "You know, a little more rouge wouldn't kill you."

"If I was going for the painted-whore look, then no, it wouldn't," Pansy said dryly.

"Speaking of whore," Blaise said pointedly, looking at the dress that Raquel had just put on. "Where's the rest of that dress?"

Raquel didn't bother responding. She hummed to herself, fluffing her hair in a casual way.

"Why are you wearing that?" Alyssa asked her curiously. "Are you really making a go at Malfoy?"

Pansy would have liked to know the answer to that, as well.

Raquel smiled smugly. "No…"

"Then, why?"

Raquel shrugged mysteriously. "You'll see…"

Well, as long it didn't have anything to do with Draco, Pansy didn't give a damn about what Raquel was up to.

Millicent chose that moment to rise from her place on the floor. She moved over towards her bureau, hovering awkwardly beside it.

Blaise blinked at her. "Forgot you were even here, Bulstrode."

So had the rest of them, actually. Millicent had a talent for becoming invisible when the group of them got together. It was a talent that Pansy felt genuinely jealous of at times.

Millicent ignored Blaise, but she sent an uncertain look at Raquel. "Is that how you're all dressing?" she asked nervously.

Understanding her concerns, Pansy made a disgusted noise. "Like that trash?"

"Oi!" Raquel said indignantly.

Imitating her mother, Pansy held up a silk blouse in one hand and a matching skirt in the other. "This, Millicent, is what ladies of stature wear to public events. It's flattering without being obscene, and it reveals class without flaunting it."

The edges of Millicent's mouth quirked up slightly, as if she were suppressing a smile.

"Yeah, and we'll compare marriage offers by the end of the year, Parkinson," Raquel called from inside of her armoire, where she was probably searching for shoes. "Ladies of stature, my arse," she grumbled.

Pansy snickered and tugged her tie over her head. She tossed it over the back of her desk chair, and the stiff white button-up soon followed. Slipping into the sleeveless blouse, Pansy stared wistfully at Draco's old shirt. It was hanging innocently in her armoire, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all of her expensive chemises and specially tailored blouses. She would have much rather spent the night painting in Draco's old shirt than attending this gathering.

Once Raquel had found her shoes, she flounced out of the room with a smile, for all the world looking like a proud peacock.

"I wonder what she's up to," Alyssa said thoughtfully.

"She's being a whore, what does it look like?" Blaise said.

Pansy snorted in agreement as she pulled on her white heeled boots.

"But with who?" Alyssa said.

"Who cares?" Blaise finished.

"You'd care if it was with your boyfriend," Alyssa threw back.

"How long do you think this is going to take?" Pansy interrupted irritably as she dragged some extra Sleakeazy gel through her hair.

"No one's forcing you to come down," Blaise said casually. "If you wanted to stay up here and paint, then I could always give you any important details tomorrow."

Pansy looked at her, surprised. What, no social pressure?

Blaise didn't look back at her, and Pansy felt the stirrings of suspicion. She didn't have a clue what her staying upstairs could accomplish for Blaise, but there really was no sense in taking chances.

"No, I'm coming," she said firmly. "I was just wondering."

Blaise looked disappointed, and it only sharpened Pansy's unease.

She was still mulling over it when a noise from downstairs signaled that it was time for them to join the rest of the lot.

"Well, I'm ready," Blaise said quickly, not waiting for the rest of them.

After she had disappeared out the door, Alyssa turned to her.

"Did they both seem a bit… off-like to you?"

_Off-like, _meaning _up to something._

"I mean, Blaise was actually kind of… Um, _nice_? She was being nice, right?"

For Blaise, yes, and these days that couldn't be a good thing.

But instead of conferring with Alyssa, a potential ally, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pansy didn't know what was going on, yet, so there wasn't any need to go forming alliances.

Yet.

"Are you ready?" Alyssa asked, one hand on the doorknob.

Pansy nodded. She tucked her wand into her high boot and followed Alyssa out, leaving Millicent alone in the room.

Coming down the staircase, the sound of music carried up into her ears and echoed across the stones. Pansy flinched. It was a good thing that Professor Snape didn't sleep close by or else this party would have been over before it started. Then again, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

The common room was rearranged to accommodate a party of their size, with the couches and chairs pushed over to the sides of the room. The center of the room had been converted into a dance floor, and several students were hopping about to the beat. Pansy looked around, but she couldn't figure out what had been charmed to playthe music.

God. Was that The Weird Sisters? They were so over two years ago.

Shaking her head in disgust, she followed Alyssa over to where the seventh years were gathered around their favorite couch.

Blaise and Draco were having what looked like a deep conversation, but Draco immediately broke off and moved over to make room for Pansy.

Blaise frowned, looking unhappy at the interruption. However, she quickly started up a conversation with Alyssa and proceeded to ignore them both.

Pleased to be the interruption of whatever the hell Blaise had been trying to delude herself with, Pansy settled herself down next to Draco and accepted the drink he offered her. "This is just butterbooze, right?" she asked suspiciously.

Draco pretended to be hurt. "Do you honestly believe that I'd drug you against your will?"

"Interesting choice of words, there," she said amusedly. "But, seriously. Just butterbooze, right?"

"Yes, yes, it's just boring old butterbooze. Now, drink up."

"Where's Theodore?" Alyssa asked, looking around for her brother. She sat on the other side of Blaise, with Goyle leaning against herarmrest.

Crabbe, who was leaning on the opposite armrest, pointed over to the dance floor, where Theodore was currently grinding away with a sixth year. Together, he and Goyle resembled bookends.

Pansy frowned when she realized that Raquel was nowhere to be seen.

Hmn.

Draco put his arm around her and pulled her closer so that they could talk without having to shout over the music. He twirled a strand of Pansy's hair around his finger and smirked. "Pansy, love. Why ever did you abandon that gorgeous short cut you had for so long?"

She glared at him and self-consciously smoothed her hair back and away from his fingers. "What are you trying to say about my hair?" Was he making fun of her? Because she spent what felt like hours applying that Sleakeazy gel to her hair every night so that it would behave the next day.

Draco shrugged. "Nothing. Blaise was just saying— Well, never mind. It doesn't matter."

"_What _did Blaise say about my hair?" Pansy demanded instantly, sending Zabini a suspicious look from the corner of her eye. She hastily smoothed down what felt like a wayward curl sprouting up.

"Oh, she just mentioned that Patil and her Gryffindor buddies made some comments about your hair that made you grow it out."

Pansy's face was instantly red. "Said that, did she?"

"_Elle a fait, en effet." _

"Zabini doesn't know what she's talking about," she said stonily.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's good. Because I wouldn't like to think that you had let those silly fools get to you."

"Well, you bloody well don't have to," she snapped peevishly, giving Blaise another pointed glare.

Draco didn't necessarily look convinced.

When Millicent finally came hurrying over to them, Pansy was relieved. But then she flinched at her wardrobe choice. The skirt Millicent had chosen stretched unattractively across her stomach and did nothing to flatter her thick legs. She really needed to take the girl shopping on the next Hogsmeade trip.

However, when Draco's hand suddenly came down on her knee, all thoughts about Millicent's wardrobe flew right out of her head. Pansy gave an unintentional jump at the contact.

"_Que est mauvais_?" he whispered to her.

"Nothing's wrong," she muttered. "I just don't think that we resolved anything with that meeting." It wasn't really the meeting that was on her mind, but she wasn't about to admit to Draco that she was still sulking over the insinuations about her hair.

Bloody Patil.

She tried not to shiver too obviously when his thumb started to circle on her skin.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe not. But at least no one's still panicking. Well, except maybe you," he teased.

Pansy smiled weakly, trying her best to seem unaffected by his wayward hand. "Yes, but I can always trust you to protect me from the big, bad temulas, right? Right?"

Draco didn't answer.

Pansy craned her neck to stare at him curiously. He was staring off into space with a weird expression on his face. "Draco?"

Draco remained silent with his mouth hanging open slightly.

Dismayed, Pansy turned to see what had stolen his attention.

When she realized that it was Belinda Oakley, giving Draco a disgustingly obvious signal, she felt her insides shrivel.

Draco suddenly smirked smugly and the hand quickly came off of Pansy's knee. She made a small noise of protest, but Draco wasalready focused elsewhere.

Pansy crossed her arms and pouted childishly. She didn't bother to hide it, since Draco wasn't looking at her, anyway. "Haven't you already been with her?" she asked sullenly, sounding ridiculously bitter even to herself.

Draco tore his eyes away from the tart long enough to grin wickedly at Pansy. "Some things bear repeating."

"I don't think that's the right context for that quote," she snapped.

Draco laughed and stood up, causing Pansy to awkwardly lose her balance and fall over.

Pansy watched helplessly as he crossed the room towards the unholy siren. She slowly righted herself on the couch, silently wishing that for once Draco would be content to stay by her side for an entire night. She didn't like to think that the implication was that she was too boring to keep his attention.

_Memo to self: Make sure that Draco remembers to sweep up the pieces after he's finished stomping on heart. _

Oh, she wished that she had a pen in hand for that one…

"Would you like a tissue?" Blaise offered with mock sympathy.

Pansy took a deep, mollifying breath. Distant cousin or not, she was no above hexing Blaise right there on the couch. They were really overdue for that talk about the proper boundaries for friends/rivals.

"You know, I heard that Bromley was seen in the restricted section of the library with a fourth year Hufflepuff," Pansy said with equally mocking enthusiasm. "I mean, can you imagine? A _fourth _year, of all things. And a _Hufflepuff_! Although, I don't know how he would have gotten her in there… Oh, but I suppose that there are ways… when you're desperate enough."

Blaise's eyes were hard, but she smiled thinly. "I understand how much pain you must be in, Parkinson, so I'm not going to say anything about how lonely it's going to be in that empty bed of yours tonight, knowing that Malfoy will be off shagging someone _else's _brains out… Oh." She put a hand over her mouth. "Oops."

Pansy gritted her teeth and turned her gaze back to Draco.

Her heart sank when she saw that he and Oakley were sharing the emerald, high-backed chair. _Her_ chair.

Oakley was sitting in Draco's lap with her legs wrapped around his waist in an extremely obscene manner. They were across the room, but Pansy could easily tell that Draco's hands were everywhere.

Pansy saw Oakley take a drink of _something _and then kiss Draco, apparently transferring the drink between their mouths.

Okay, no. That wasn't even sanitary. The amount of germs and saliva that had just passed between them was just… It wasn't… Well,_right_. Draco was a former prefect, and he should have known better than to... And who even knew what was in that drink… Christ. Pansy sank lower in her seat. The argument didn't even work in her head, let alone out loud to Draco.

She felt sick, and she didn't even notice when Blaise left the couch with an airy laugh. It was bad enough knowing that Draco did that kind of thing with other girls, but to actually see it was far worse.

Unable to watch anymore, she tried to engage Crabbe in a conversation about the prior week's dinner selections. She didn't really care, but it was a better distraction than none. What she really wanted was to disappear under her bedcovers and pretend that this wasn't happening.

She'd give this party another five minutes or so, and then she'd…

The music suddenly stopped, and Pansy lost her train of thought.

Surprised, she looked over to where a scene was being created across the room. She felt a twinge of hope that it might prove enough of a diversion to keep her mind off of Draco.

Maybe Theodore had been working on a girl who already had a boyfriend. That could be interesting.

Or maybe something had been slipped into one of the sixth year girl's drinks, and she was making an ass of herself. It wouldn't be original, but it could still prove entertaining.

Unfortunately, Pansy couldn't exactly see from her vantage point on the couch.

She didn't want to be too obvious with her interest, but she figured that she couldn't really be mocked for it when the entire room had fallen silent.

She stood up to get a better look.

And frowned.

What she saw wasn't Theodore grappling with a lower year. No, nor was it a girl making out with a lampshade. It wasn't even a lifeless corpse, which would have been messy, but undeniably intriguing.

No, but any of those scenarios would have made more sense.

Raquel had returned, and she wasn't alone.

Patcholi Baddock, a sixth year, made a strangled noise that could be heard even from across the room.

Pansy still couldn't see whom Raquel had with her, but there was suddenly a sense of forbiddance rather than excitement within her. Why was everyone still being so quiet? If Raquel had snagged a fifth year and dressed him up in a feather boa and one of Blaise's skirts,then there would have been catcalls and jeers loud enough for even the comatose Professor Snape to hear.

But she couldn't imagine what Raquel could have done to cause this reaction. Raquel just generally wasn't that interesting.

Now hesitant, Pansy moved to the side of the room where the other onlookers weren't obstructing her view.

When she realized who was standing beside Raquel, Patcholi's noise made sense. Actually, everything made sense.

Like everyone else in the room, Pansy stiffened.

David Clayborn. Little Patcholi's ex. Ravenclaw sixth year.

Translation: Not a Slytherin.

What the hell was Raquel pulling?

You didn't bring people from other houses into the common room. You just didn't. It was one of those rules that didn't have to be spoken.

During the six-plus years that Pansy had attended Hogwarts, there had only been one other instance when someone had been foolish enough to bring an outsider into their personal domain.

It happened during her third year, after a Quidditch victory. Draco had caught the snitch and won the game for Slytherin, so his year mates—Pansy included—had been allowed to attend the after-curfew party in the common room, provided that they swear to keep theirmouths shut about any and all goings-ons that they happened to witness.

Pansy hadn't seen their entrance, because she had been too engrossed in listening to Draco's retelling of the game, and she couldn't remember today whom the older girl or her uninvited date had been.

But she remembered the important part. She remembered an older Slytherin girl—probably a seventh year—marching over to the other girl and slapping her in the face. An older boy and his friends had easily thrown the date out, and that had been that.

It hadn't happened since.

Until now.

Pansy quickly surveyed the room, evaluating the reactions of her housemates to this outrage. Those who didn't look confused at least appeared indignant, which was good, because they should be.

The most disturbing was the smug look on Raquel's face as she hung off of Clayborn's arm, basking in the attention.

Patcholi's friends were clustering around her protectively, and Pansy looked around for her own year mates. Her gaze naturally went to Draco first, but he still had Belinda in his lap, and Pansy realized that this had to be handled by another female, anyway. Just like last time.

Blaise and Alyssa were conferring together nearby, so Pansy made a beeline for them.

"What the hell does she think she's doing?" she said immediately, not really bothering to keep her voice down.

Alyssa shook her head. "Maybe she doesn't know…"

"How could she not know?" Blaise snapped. "The entire Great Hall saw it happen!"

Pansy was confused until she realized that Blaise was talking about Clayborn's very public dumping of Patcholi not so long ago, and not the party during third year.

"But that's not even the point," Blaise told them fervently. "Even if that guy hadn't dumped her, he's still a Ravenclaw. We all know the rules. I've never brought Aidan to one of our parties."

"I guess Raquel missed the seminar," Alyssa said wryly.

Patcholi made another strangled noise, and Pansy started to feel frustrated. Why wasn't this being handled? Everyone was exchanging looks and talking in low tones, but no one was actually doing anything about the situation.

It was when Raquel tried to bring Clayborn further into the room that Pansy finally snapped. This couldn't happen. Raquel couldn't get away with this.

She was across the room before she even knew what she was doing.

Pansy didn't even bother to acknowledge Clayborn. She grabbed Raquel's arm in an iron grip and hissed into her ear, "Get him out of here!"

Raquel made an outraged noise at being manhandled, but Pansy just dug her fingernails further into her arm. "Now, Briggs!"

"How fucking dare you!" Raquel snapped, shoving Pansy off of her. "Just because you don't have anyone doesn't mean that you can dictate what other people do with their boyfriends!"

A humiliated blush spread across her face, and Pansy almost backed off there. She felt an almost irrepressible urge to repeat history and smack Raquel, or to at least let loose some of those useful moves that Draco had taught her during combat training. An entire room of people had just heard that slur, including Draco.

The idiot girl had also just ensured that Pansy couldn't retreat from this unscathed. Not with the other occupants of the room watching them. They were all waiting to see who was going to back down first.

If Pansy was, indeed, the"queen bitch"of her clique, then that made Raquel a rebellious cub that needed to be reminded of her place. As stupid as it was, her authority was being challenged, and if Pansy backed down now, then she would officially become the equivalent of Slytherin fodder.

Brilliant.

Pansy purposely fixed her face into a cool expression and kept her voice low. There was no reason why anyone besides her recalcitrant friend here needed to hear anything she had to say.

"It's been a stressful day for all of us, so I'm going to forgive you for speaking to me like that," she coldly. "But you had no right to bring him here, and you bloody well know it. Now, fix this, or I'll be forced to fix it for you."

There was a definite threat there, even if Pansy didn't exactly know what she would do if Raquel continued to be defiant. She dug her nails in deeper, and Raquel actually flinched in pain.

Pansy held her breath and waited for the outcome. This could get really ugly if Raquel insisted on being uncooperative.

But Pansy's roommate wasn't shrieking insults or calling on her right to bring whoever she wanted to their private party.

She did rip her arm out of Pansy's grip, but other than that, she remained still, staring at the ground with a furious concentration. She was obviously weighing her options.

Clayborn muttered something, but no one was listening to him. If the boy was uncomfortable, then it was his own fault for coming in the first place. He knew that Patcholi would be here, but he came, anyway.

"You never should have brought him," Pansy reiterated for her. She really shouldn't have had to remind her of this. That was what was most annoying about the situation.

But nonetheless, she only allowed a hint of patronizing to escape into her tone. There was no sense in provoking her over the edge. "You know how things work around here. Housemates first. It's always been that way."

Raquel gave Pansy a livid glare, but it soon became clear that she was going to accept her defeat. She took a minimal step backward, and Pansy felt the first tingles of triumph crawl up her limbs.

Clearly fuming, Raquel grabbed her boyfriend's arm and dragged him back out of the common room without another word to anyone. No one followed after them.

There was a moment of silence left in her wake.

Feeling the rush of power that came with exerting control, Pansy turned to her housemates and gave a final warning look to a few of the girls whom she knew could use it.

They all flinched and turned away, reassuring her that she had indeed kept her place of authority. Good. The girls may not have been able to hear everything Pansy had said to Raquel, but they definitely knew what the gist of it must be.

Patcholi was smiling at her, relief clear even across the room. Feeling some brief irritation, Pansy immediately marched over to her and said, "Next time, fight your own battles."

Patcholi's smile faded and she looked chagrined, as she well should have. Her discomfort could have cost Pansy a great deal of security.

But what had to be done was done.

Nodding to herself, Pansy left Patcholi and returned to the corner of the room that had the drinks. She grabbed the nearest available chalice and plopped back down on the green sofa next to Millicent, feeling both incredibly stressed as well as incredibly relieved.

Millicent was looking at her from the corner of her eye, but Pansy ignored her.

Right now, nothing seemed like a better idea than having a relaxing drink of what was hopefully just simple, straight butterbooze.

Pansy sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip. The familiar taste of butterbooze hit her mouth, and she relaxed against the cushions. The hand holding the chalice shook only minimally.

"She's going to be furious."

Pansy glanced over at Blaise as she settled herself on the couch arm. She smiled humorlessly into her drink. "She's already furious."

Blaise shrugged, obviously caring little about Raquel's feelings. "That was some performance you gave," she said sulkily.

"You should have felt free to jump in at any time," Pansy said sarcastically.

Blaise gave her a sour look. "And interfere with your power trip? I wouldn't want to deprive you of the opportunity to throw your weight around."

"Jealous?" Pansy suggested dryly.

Blaise just snorted and moved off.

Pansy smirked to herself and took another sip of her butterbooze. Itwas too bad that Blaise hadn't been the one to take control of the situation. It would have saved Pansy the trouble.

Now that the buzz was wearing off, she was left feeling a little embarrassed. She had just done what needed to be done, but it probably had come across as merely an exertion of control.

Great.

That was just the message that she wanted to send the sixth years, their successors.

To make matters worse, she was also starting to feel a tad irrational. Why had she reacted so strongly to Raquel's rebellion? Would it really have mattered if Clayborn had stayed and gotten shit-faced like the rest of them? He probably wouldn't even have remembered anything the next day.

But… Well, if there was one Slytherin principle that Pansy felt strongly about, it was solidarity.

But perhaps she had reacted a bit strongly… Or maybe not strong _enough…_

Oh, bloody hell.

_Memo to self: Leave the politics to Blaise and Draco. _

Pansy closed her eyes against the impending headache and leaned back against the green satin. She was thankful to Millicent for her respectful silence.

Just one year left. And then… Well, there was really no harm in hoping that the war wouldn't happen for another year or so. Maybe she'd take a flat somewhere. Far away.

Two hands abruptly came down on her shoulders, and Pansy instinctively slapped them away. She whipped around, prepared to cut down whoever had decided to annoy her. But the words died in her throat when she realized that it was Draco.

"Oh, it's you."

"_Oh, it's you_," he mimicked. "What the hell kind of greeting is that?"

Pansy sighed and eyed him warily. Draco looked absolutely breathtaking with his hair mused and top shirt buttons undone.

But the reason for his flushed state was still too fresh in her mind to easily forget. Maybe tomorrow she'd be able to separate the two images.

Pansy turned back around in her seat and occupied her eyes elsewhere. "Well, that's what you get for sneaking up on people," she said finally. "What are you doing over here, anyway? Did your whore wear out on you?"

"I love it when you talk dirty like that," he purred.

Millicent blushed and fidgeted uncomfortably next to her.

Pansy rolled her eyes and then drained the rest of her butterbooze, which gave her a slight rush to the head when she stood up.

"Where are you going?" he asked confusedly.

"To bed," she answered. She had had enough excitement for one night. And if she was going to have to brew Draco a potion for his inevitable hangover in the morning, then she was going to need sleep.

"You can't go to bed."

"Oh, no? Watch me," she said, taking a step toward the staircase.

Unsurprisingly, Draco was around the couch with an arm around her waist before Pansy had even reached the first step. She groaned and half-heartedly tried to push him away.

"Draco, I'm serious. I want to go to bed. Why don't you scamper off now and find out how many people have come across a stray pair of your knickers? I hear that those red silk ones have a decent street value these days."

Draco chuckled and bent his face down so that his cheek was resting against hers. "I don't have a pair of red knickers, but it's good to know where your fantasies are these days."

Pansy would have blushed at that, but she was distracted by the sudden onslaught of hot breath against her ear. Her eyes drifted shut as her heart sped up. "What are you doing?" she asked weakly.

"Come play with me," he whispered huskily.

_Oh, help_.

Pansy would have thrown him to the floor and done just that, but Draco had gripped her hand and was guiding her over to the dancers.

"Draco, I don't want to dance," she protested. "I want—"

"I know what you want," he interrupted.

"I doubt that," she grumbled unhappily.

Draco either didn't hear her or else he chose to ignore the clear meaning behind her grumbling. He pulled her directly into the center of the dancers.

Pansy made a point of pouting again, but she still allowed herself to be enveloped in Draco's arms. She didn't know why she had even bothered to protest in the first place. Draco always got his way in the end, didn't he?

Winding her arms around his neck, Pansy rested her forehead against his shoulder with a resigned sigh. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that his entire body was warm because of her, rather than the more obvious explanation of recent (more than) snogging.

"Why?"

"What?" Pansy asked, annoyed that he was distracting her from the illusion that she was trying to create.

"I asked you why."

"Why, what?"

"Why did you take on Briggs in front of everyone just now?"

"Why?" Pansy said incredulously. She raised her head from his shoulder and frowned at him. "Because she was disrespecting us and her house in general by bringing that guy to our party. Why do you think?"

"I didn't see anyone getting disrespected other than your charity case, Patcholi," Draco said dryly.

Pansy glared at him. "You know that there are rules. Raquel never should have brought Clayborn, and she knows it. End of story. If she wants to stay angry, then that's her problem. I did what I had to do."

"Did you?"

Pansy raised an eyebrow at the peculiar tone of Draco's question. "Of course," she said guardedly. Had she missed something? "Why?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Why did it have to be you? Why not someone else?"

"Because no one else was doing it!" Pansy said defensively.

"So?" Draco challenged. "Why not leaveBaddock to her humiliation, then? What's she to you, anyway? A little nobody like that?"

Pansy growled in frustration and pulled away from him. "You would say something like that."

"Well?" he demanded, folding his arms. They were still standing in the middle of the designated dance area, undoubtedly throwing off several rhythms.

Pansy shrugged. She was feeling distinctly irritated, now. "Nothing," she admitted grudgingly.

Draco continued to stare at her, the corners of his mouth upturning.

"What?" she asked self-consciously.

His mouth formed a full smile, now. "You understand."

She stared back uncomprehendingly. Then, Pansy abruptly grabbed his chin and turned his head so that she could get a better look at his eyes. "You're already pissed, aren't you?"

Draco laughed and batted her hand away. He shifted closer and rested his forehead against hers. "You understand that we have to stick together," he purred. "Especially now."

"Of course I know that!" she said indignantly, averting her eyes to avoid getting sucked into his gaze. "Slytherin solidarity. It's practically tattooed on our foreheads. Everyone knows that."

Draco hummed his approval and ran his hands down her sides, gripping and releasing the fabric there.

Pansy was still feeling annoyed with him, so she remained frigid. But she didn't move away from him.

Unfortunately, her resolve quickly began to dissolve when Draco rubbed their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. He smiled sweetly and tugged at her arm.

Pansy fought it. She really did. All romantic attachments aside, she really wasn't stupid. Really. She knew when she was being worked over.

But she melted, anyway. She couldn't help it.

Her whole body shuddered pleasantly when Draco nuzzled his face against her neck. He was so warm… Oh, but she wasn't supposed to be doing this anymore, was she?

Hmn.

Ah, well.

Resolutions were meant to be broken.

Against her better judgment, Pansy allowed herself to be drawn back into his arms.

She ignored his triumphant smirk and buried her face in his neck. Draco's arms fastened around her and she felt everything but her need for him fade away.

_Mon dieu,_did she need him.

She needed his strong presence in her life to keep her sane when everything else sprung out of control. Like now. She needed to feel his body against hers to remind herself of why she put up with it all.

Because sometimes it seemed like a hell of a lot to put up with.

His hands were sliding and pressing lightly against her back, and she half-moaned at the pressure.

Draco's lips ghosted softly over the side of her face like those of a phantom lover, and Pansy's eyes fluttered closed. "Mmn," she murmured contentedly.

"So, you're not going, then," he whispered.

"What?" she asked blearily, too caught up in him to have heard the words.

"To that stupid Mudblood club."

Pansy blinked in surprise, having heard that plain and clear. The art club? Was Draco still on about that? Pansy had actually already decided that shewasn't going. She could have told him that if she'd known that he was going to obsess over it.

But… She had to bite her lip against the stupid smile that threatened to spread across her face.

Was it possible that Draco was actually— dare she dream it—_jealous_? Of _Dean Thomas_?

Oh, this was just too good to pass up.

Pansy leaned back in his arms so that she could flip her hair nonchalantly. "I never said that I wasn't going."

Draco immediately frowned, and Pansy rejoiced internally. "But—You just—"

"This club could be the perfect creative outlet for me," she said pragmatically.

"Since when do you need a creative outlet?" he shot back.

She shrugged mysteriously.

"Pansy!"

"What?" she said laughingly.

To Pansy's pleasant shock, Draco aggressively gripped her hips and pulled her against him. "You're not going," he growled.

Pansy grinned stupidly. "Yes, I am."

"No, you're _not_."

"Yes, I— Oomph!"

Draco's mouth had come crashing down onto hers, and Pansy had to force herself to stop laughing so that she could kiss him back. His mouth was pressing almost to the point of pain.

Surprised by the aggressiveness, Pansy tried to coax him with her lips into being gentler, but Draco suddenly drew back so quickly that it left her feeling disoriented.

With a growl, he dipped his head and dug his teeth into her neck. Pansy's knees threatened to buckle, and she convulsively gripped his shoulders.

"Wha… Oh… Mmn…" Finding her bearings appeared to be a lost cause. She choked back a moan when his tongue drew over the area he had just bitten. God, what was he doing?

Draco's lips suddenly pressed against her ear. "I do know what you want," he gasped. Her entire body melted against him.

Somewhere amidst the hot fog that had encased her brain, Pansy suddenly had a shocking revelation about what was happening here.

Draco was serious this time. He wasn't just teasing her. His hands were really gripping her like there was nothing he'd like better than to simply rip the jumper straight off of her back; and his tongue was really dipping into her mouth the way she had always wished it would.

Oh, God. Draco was finally ready. He was ready to be with her. Any moment now, he would take her hand and guide her up to his room, and they would…

Her knees finally buckled, and Draco deftly caught hold of Pansy's waist, still kissing her.

At long last, Draco was going to give up his cheap flings and commit himself to her. They were actually going to acknowledge the sexual tension that had been between them for years now, and finally do something about it.

He was _ready._

And Pansy was suddenly terrified.

In fact, she was shaking so badly that it was a wonder that Draco hadn't stopped to ask what was wrong. It wasn't that she didn't want this— Christ, did she _want _it. She had been waiting for _years_, after all. But everything was just happening so _fast _all of a sudden!

With a strangled noise, Pansy abruptly jerked her face backward in an effort to break the kiss. Gasping for breath, she hastily tried to bring herself back to full lucidity.

Draco was panting softly, and he stood still for a moment after their kiss ended with his eyes still closed. When his eyes did slowly blink open, it seemed to take an effort for him to focus in on her.

"Pansy?" he said, sounding confused.

Heart pounding, she pulled fully out of his arms and crossed her arms protectively across her chest. "I just need a minute," she explained with a nervous smile.

Draco didn't respond. He just stood there, looking around with a blank expression on his face.

Pansy was too full of different emotions to give much thought to his odd behavior. She started to back away hesitantly. "I'll be right back," she said earnestly. "Just— Well, don't move, okay? I'll be right back."

When Draco remained silent, Pansy practically sprinted across the room to the drink table. There was another boy standing there, but she ignored him and gulped down the first thing her hand connected with.

Excitement was starting to replace the nervousness, but she still needed a little extra courage to go through with this. There was so much hanging on this one giant step that she and Draco were about to take together. She wanted it to be so good for him that he would never even think about another girl taking her place in his bed ever again.

And that would be quite a feat, considering that Pansy had next to no experience whatsoever.

But in the end, she was sure that her inexperience wouldn't matter, because Draco would guide her through it. Anyway, how bad could it be when two people were in love?

Smiling brightly at her newly acquired confidence, Pansy turned around to make sure that Draco hadn't moved from where she'd left him.

The smile froze on her face.

Draco hadn't left the dance floor, but he wasn't alone anymore. Blaise had swiftly moved in and claimed Pansy's spot. Her back was to Pansy, but it was clear that her arms were latched around his neck.

What the hell?

Pansy didn't even have time to work up an indignant rage, because at that exact moment, the bodies shifted, and she had a perfect profile view of the two of them.

The chalice slipped from her fingers and smashed on cold, stone floor.

The boy next to her made a surprised noise at the clatter, but he quickly bent down at her feet with his wand. "I'll get that, Pansy," he said. She didn't hear him. Pansy felt as if she had just been punched.

Blaise and Draco were kissing. No, not just kissing. They were _groping._

Her mind was having trouble wrapping around it, frozen in a state somewhere between denial and revulsion. This couldn't be happening. Draco had promised! He said that he wouldn't ever…

Draco was _touching _her. Blaise. Her best friend. Her enemy.

First, there was only scathing betrayal. Blaise had beaten her. Stupidly, Pansy had left Draco wide open to her, and she hadn't even thought about it.

But then the cold reality of the situation finally hit home, and she felt infinitely worse.

Draco wasn't ready to be with her.

He was _drunk._

The realization brought everything crashing down on her. She sucked in a shaky breath and gripped the edge of the table.

"Are you okay, Pansy?" asked a small voice.

No, not even remotely was she _okay._It didn't feel as if anything could ever be _okay _ever again.

A hand touched her arm, and Pansy immediately snapped back to herself. She whipped her head around and glared at the person touching her. Patcholi squeaked in alarm when Pansy grabbed her arm and yanked her closer.

"You want a lesson on how to survive in this house?" she snarled, pain gripping her chest.

Patcholi's eyes only widened, and Pansy jerked her head at Belinda Oakley. "You keep both eyes on your _friend _over there. Sluts like that are just waiting to stab you in the back."

Patcholi looked devastated, but Pansy didn't care. It was for her own good. She shoved the younger girl away from her.

Stepping over the boy who was still at her feet, Pansy raised her chin up and headed for the exit at a brisk pace. She kept her eyes straight ahead when she passed by Draco and Blaise, but she didn't have to look to know that they took no notice of her.

Pansy passed through the outwardly concealed door and kept walking. The green lamps lit up beside her as she passed, lighting her way. She should have worried about being caught out after curfew, or at least about the wet cold that was quick to seep into her limbs, but all she could think about or feel was the sting of disappointment.

She had been so _close._If only she hadn't gotten cold feet.

The sensible part of her mind whispered that Draco would have been drunk, and that she wouldn't have gotten what she really wanted, anyway.

But with _Blaise!_

Pansy shuddered with humiliation and rage. It wasn't fair. Oh, and she had made such a fool of herself. How must she have looked, swooning in Draco's arms, only to be replaced within seconds by her own friend? Fucking Blaise.

Pansy stormed all the way up the stairs and out into the entrance hall. She barely hesitated before pulling open the great doors and marching outside into the chilling air.

It didn't even occur to Pansy where she was going until she found herself across the grounds, down the slope, and standing in front of the broom shed. Then an idea formed in her over-heated mind.

Glancing around, Pansy bent over and pulled her wand from her boot.

She pointed her wand at the rusty-looking lock. "_Allohamora."_

The lock fell off, and Pansy tugged the old doors open and slipped inside.

"_Lumos_," she growled, already searching the shadows for a specific broom.

Draco's broom wasn't hard to identify, even if one didn't have the benefit of having seen it on several occasions. It was the only broom that had its own specially made standing wrack, and the hairs were covered in an emerald-colored cloth-wrap. Oh, and not to forget the bold Malfoy emblem clearly visible even from several feet away.

Gritting her teeth together, Pansy reached up and pulled off the cloth-wrap, revealing fine, perfect broom hairs. Disregarding reverence, she carelessly jerked the broom free from the wrack and left the wrap on the floor.

Feeling the kind of mad euphoria that came with rebellion, Pansy marched out of the shed and headed straight for the Quidditch pitch. She had a purpose now, and even if it was only the slightly ridiculous goal of messing up Draco's pristine broom hairs by not brushing them after riding, well… It would do in a pinch.

Pansy was just slipping off her boots to avoid scuffing them up when an unexpected voice sounded from behind her.

"Pansy?"

She squeaked and dropped both her boots and the broom in surprise.

"Pansy, is that you?"

She turned around to see Dean Thomas coming towards her from the edge of the pitch. He was carrying something under his arm.

Pansy scowled at the interruption, and when he was close enough, she snapped, "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Well, you're the last person I expected to see out here tonight," Thomas said cheerfully, ignoring her caustic tone. He stopped near her and stared at the broom in her hand. "You're going flying? _Now_?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"I bloody well asked you a question, Thomas!" she said indignantly.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Yes, _Pansy_, and I heard you."

She glared at him. "It's _Parkinson_, to you! Now, either tell me what you want, or bloody well bugger off!"

Both eyebrows shot up this time.

Pansy waited, but when he only continued to stare at her, she made a frustrated noise. "What are you still _doing _here? I told you to _bugger off_!"

Thomas actually had the nerve to smile at her. "First off, you don't own the Quidditch pitch."

"Why, you—"

Thomas held up a hand, looking far too amused for her liking. "And secondly, I…" he trailed off and stared at her. "Why are you dressed up like that?"

Pansy quickly glanced down at herself and realized that she must have looked ridiculous to him. A bitter hand gave her heart another invisible squeeze. What better way to end the evening than with a Gryffindor having the opportunity to mock her? He would probably run back to his little buddies and tell them that Pansy Parkinson was hanging out on the Quidditch pitch in her formal wear. She must truly be bonkers.

Pansy was so full of unfocused rage that it was surprisingly easy to direct it all at Thomas. "You don't like it?" she hissed challengingly, stepping into his personal space. "Strange. I was just getting the impression that you had a thing for bad girls, Thomas. Isn't that why you're suddenly playing at being my stalker? First watching me out in the groves, and now following me out here?"

She felt some grim satisfaction when Thomas' amused demeanor slipped off, leaving him with a stricken expression on his face. He sputtered. "I'm not—"

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "So, what's the problem, Thomas? Are you finally bored with the _innocent _Gryffindor girls? Hmn? Does Granger not do it for you, anymore?"

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but she didn't give him the opportunity, stepping so close that they were sharing the same air. She heard his sharp intake of breath.

Pansy lowered her voice dangerously. "Did you think that it would be easier to get into my knickers because my house mascot is a _snake_, rather than some demented lion with wings?"

Thomas' face finally hardened, as he seemed to get a hold of himself. "Stop it, Pansy."

"Stop—Bloody—Calling—Me—That!" she shouted, pushing him away. "We are _not _friends, Thomas!"

Messing up Draco's broom no longer seemed satisfying enough. Disgusted, she threw it onto the ground and turned to leave. There were so many curses she could be putting on Blaise's possessions while her Judas and Brutus got it on in the common room.

But Thomas halted her progress when he abruptly threw himself into her path. His face was flushed, but he looked determined. "If you honestly think that you're just going to walk away from me after _that_, then you really are off your rocker."

Pansy gaped at him. "What is the matter with you? Are you glutton for punishment or something?"

"Probably," he admitted ruefully. "But I'm smart enough to know that you're not really angry with me."

She shook her head in astonishment. "Okay, for the record, Gryffindors are _not _smart, and where do you get off? You don't even know me."

Thomas was starting to look assured again, meaning that Pansy's tongue-lashing hadn't been nearly as devastating as she had intended for it to be. "Isn't that Malfoy's broom?" he asked quietly.

Pansy's glare returned full-force. "Maybe."

Thomas smiled at her. "What did he do?"

How pathetic must she be if even Dean Thomas knew that Draco had screwed her over?

Pansy tried to move around him, but Thomas was immediately in her face again. He shoved the thing that he had been holding under his arm into herhands. "Here."

Pansy immediately dropped the round object and stepped backward. Bewildered, she stared down at the odd black-and-white concoction. "Um…"

Thomas laughed and lifted the ball with his foot, before dropping it and kicking it back up again. "You act like you've never seen a football before."

"A what?" she said, wondering if he had lost his mind.

He grinned. "A football."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stonily.

"No?" he asked innocently. "Well, then I guess that I'll have to teach you, won't I?"

It was Pansy's turn to sputter. "Did you not just hear what I said about—"

"I heard," he said seriously. "But you're obviously upset, so I'm going to give you a free pass this time on besmirching my house and my intelligence. You're lucky that I've already seen the nicer version of you, or else I wouldn't bother. Now, what you're going to want to do with this ball, here, is—"

"Whoa, hold on," she said, holding up her hands. "I'm not learning any _Muggle _game from you. And you haven't seen any—"

"Do you ever get tired of talking?" he interrupted, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Pansy's mouth fell open. The absolute nerve. Her mother would have had a stroke if she had heard a Muggle-born speaking to her daughter like that.

Thomas nudged the strange ball towards her with his foot. He gave her a patient smile. "Come on. Football can be a great stress reliever. Anyway, what's the harm?"

Oh, if he only knew.

Pansy looked around uncomfortably, half-expecting her housemates to jump out from behind the bleachers. Thankfully, there was no one else out there to hear the madness that was coming out of Thomas' mouth.

"No," she said firmly.

Thomas sighed and retrieved the ball from its place at her feet. To Pansy's horror, he kept it up in the air with only his head.

"No wonder you're so daft," she marveled. "Knocking things with your head."

Thomas grabbed the ball out of the air and gave her a look. "Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically.

"Seriously, Thomas," she said. "You'd probably have better luck with girls ifthey didn't see you beating your head in with this thing."

"You don't know about my luck with girls," he said, lips quirking into a suggestive smile.

Pansy felt an odd twist in her stomach. "Please," she said, willing the blush to leave her cheeks. "You're out here playing with your ball. That just screams of sexual frustration. Maybe you should consider playing Quidditch, instead."

"Like Malfoy?"

Pansy flinched, realizing that she had walked straight into that one.

Thomas kept his dark gaze on the ball as he shuffled it between his feet. "So, are you with him?"

"What?" she said, alarmed.

Thomas didn't look up, but it was clear that he was blushing. "I asked if you were dating Malfoy," he said. "I was just wondering if you were coming from personal experience with that advice about girls and Quidditch players."

Pansy frowned deeply and tugged at a strand of her hair for a lack of any other nervous habits. "What, you think that if I were with him, I'd put up with all of those tramps he messes around with?" she said defensively, feeling that painful anger rise up again. "You think I'm that desperate?"

Thomas finally raised his gaze at that, his eyes wide. "That's not what I was thinking at all," he said seriously.

"Then why did you ask?" she shot back.

Instead of answering her, Thomas came forward solemnly and placed the ball at her feet. He stepped back and said, "Kick it."

Pansy stared hard at the ball, and after much deliberation, she reluctantly nudged it with her foot.

She looked up in time to see Thomas shake his head. "Come on, Pansy."

"Fine," she hissed. Gathering all of her frustration and anger, Pansy drew back her foot and kicked the ball as hard as she could. Her bare flesh made a loud, slapping noise when it connected with the ball, but not as loud as the noise that occurred when the ball slammed directly into Thomas' face.

The Gryffindor yelped in pain, while Pansy dropped to the ground and clutched her bruised, aching toes.

"Merlin's beard, that hurt!" she cried, rocking against the pain. "Fucking _hell_!"

Thomas made a gurgling noise from behind his hands, which were clutching his face.

Pansy made a horrified noise when she realized that she was getting grass stains on her white skirt. "I do not_believe_this!"

Despite the blood that was running from his nose, Thomas gave her a huge grin like he had earlier that day when they had been trying to dislodge the temula. He was blinking kind of funny, too, when he said, "You've got a mean kick there, Parkinson."

Pansy ignored him, too focused on her bruised foot and soiled skirt to absorb his compliment. "_Kick it, Pansy_" she mimicked angrily. **"**_It's a great stress reliever_. Oh, just brilliant there, Thomas."

Sighing, Thomas dropped down beside her, and to Pansy's astonishment, he gently took her foot in his hands. Silenced, she held her breath as he examined it, brushing each of her toes with his fingers. She squeaked when his fingers slid over her ankle, and Thomas quickly looked up at her.

They silently stared at one another, Pansy's foot in his hands, and her heart thumping radically.

Pansy broke the silence. "You're getting blood all over the place," she said faintly.

Thomas blinked. Once. Twice. Then he seemed to snap back to himself, even shaking his head for good measure. "Oh! Right. Um…" He glanced around, as if searching for his wand.

Pansy reached over and dragged her boots closer to her. She pulled out her wand and cast a healing spell on his nose. Thomas gave her a grateful smile and patted her foot. "I think you're going to be just fine."

Pansy nodded silently. Her toes didn't even hurt anymore.

Thomas stood up, looking flustered. "Do you still want to learn how to play? We don't have to do anything difficult. We can just pass it back and forth, if you'd like. _Gently_, of course."

"Kick it back and forth? What a brilliant Muggle game you have there, Thomas," she said without any real disdain, pulling her boots back on.

He just rolled his eyes at her. "That's not really how the game works."

Pansy stood up slowly, still feeling dizzy from having Thomas' hands on her skin. She shook her head slowly. "I don't want to play football."

"Are you sure?"

Pansy didn't look at him. "I think I'd just rather be alone right now."

Thomas seemed disappointed, but he nodded. "If that's what you want." He jogged over and retrieved the ball from where it had ricocheted from off his face. "I guess I'll see you at Art Club, then."

Pansy looked up sharply. "I never said I was going," she yelled to his retreating back.

"And bring those paintings of yours," he called back, once again ignoring what he didn't want to hear.

Pansy sighed and watched him go. Suddenly feeling cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

* * *

The door to Draco's dorm room slammed open with a splintering crack.

Pansy marched over to Draco's bed and unceremoniously pushed the curtains aside.

Draco was looking a bit worse for wear, his pale skin an unhealthy shade of gray and flaxen hair plastered across his forehead. He flinched under the sudden change in lighting and rolled away from her, making an unhappy noise. "'S bright," he grumbled.

Frowning, Pansy moved around the bed and pulled back the curtains from that side.

Draco groaned and hid his face under the covers. She heard a muffled, "Bloody hell, Pansy."

Impatient, Pansy pulled the covers down to his ankles in one yank.

Draco reacted like a vampire being threatened with sunlight. He hissed and covered his face. "Oh, fuck…"

Pansy just crossed her arms and waited.

Draco glared at her from between his fingers. "The fuck, Pansy?" he growled unpleasantly. "What in hell are you doing?"

"Did you sleep with her?" she demanded.

Draco stared at her—or squinted, more like. "What?"

"You heard me!" Pansy said angrily. "Did you or did you not break your promise to me and sleep with Zabini?"

Draco actually managed to sneer, or at least to grimace with an attitude. "Do you see her anywhere in this bed?"

"That doesn't mean anything," Pansy said gravely. "Yes or no, Malfoy."

Draco groaned and rubbed his face. "Pansy, I can't bloody well remember my own name right now."

Pansy could feel blood rushing to her face. She closed her eyes and took a careful breath. "You tell me right now, or else I will _never_—"

"PANSY!" he barked abruptly, jerking upright. "For fuck's sake! No! No, I didn't sleep with her!"

The sudden movement must have cost him terribly, because Draco's blazing eyes quickly shifted from furious to pained. He clutched his head and moaned, "Fuck."

Pansy was so relieved that she had to quickly grip the bedpost to keep from falling over from weak knees. It was only as an after-thought that she pulled the small vial from her pocket.

She shoved the potion under his nose with a grim smile. "I figured that you'd be needing this. Drink up, lover boy."

Draco grabbed the potion eagerly. He ripped out the stopper and gulped it down with a speedy relish.

Any other time, Pansy would have taken great pride in her potion-making skills while she watched Draco's skin tone return to normal. Now, she couldn't have cared less about how he looked.

When he handed the empty vial back to her, she pocketed it and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, clearly confused.

Pansy hesitated to tell him that she was going wherever was farthest away from him at that moment. He may not have gone all the way with Blaise, but she had seen enough last night to remain angry and resentful for a mite longer.

"To paint," she finally lied.

Draco looked skeptical, but he also looked refreshed from the potion, so her work was done here.

"Pansy?"

"What?" she asked blandly.

Draco met her gaze evenly. "You were going to say that you'd never speak to me again if I had shagged Zabini. I just want to state for the record that you could never stay away from me. Even if you ever tried, _mon amour_**."**

Pansy suddenly felt cold all over. For all their truth, the words stung. In that moment, she almost hated him.

Pansy tried to stand tall and proud, but her voice shook when she spoke, robbing her of any remaining pride. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not your doormat."

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow, only whether it was because he doubted her or because he was unaware of the popular opinion, she didn't know.

She continued shakily with escalating passion. "I may put up with all of your little whores acting like they've got one over on me, but I will not—will _not_**—**put up with that from Blaise. If you ever do shag her, then our friendship is over. Done. _Fini_." Pansy gripped the doorknob tightly in her fingers. "You think about that the next time she wiggles her hips at you."

Her speech left her feeling drained and exposed, but strangely satisfied.

However, Draco just stared blankly at her, so Pansy calmly closed the door after herself.

But as soon as it clicked shut, she allowed herself a quiet sob.

* * *

**Author's Note Numero Dos: **I just want to give my heartfelt thanks to: 

marauderindisguise, LaurenC, Onawhim, spincycle, BhOjIe, zeynel, Cindy (especially you, ;D), Switch, Ashley K, anonymussypussy, Hi Im Crazy, susy, weeping rose, Frosteec, Gryfyndor Girl, flyx, Tigra and Loup, Malfoy Iz Mai Pony, kit21, Alchemist, Elani, nesscafe, sugarbabe1, bluepharaoh, fetch, Amelia, Mizneep, Norwegianne, KeeperOfTheMoon, luckysusan99, YouDontKnowWhoIAm (even if it was just to bug me about OA. ;D), beatrice2005, taskless, nascarharryfan, Lynxkitty, Gila Draper, Lilybee2003, and Mizuki Ashiya for reviewing.

Also, I'd like to thank all of the people who inquired at my livejournal. You're all gems:D

**French Translations:**

_Vous n'aimez pas l'idée d'étant regardé, mon cher?—_You don't like the idea of being watched, my dear one?

_Pas par vous. Maintenant, partir avant que j'écris à votre mère de votre comportement_— Not by you. Now, leave before I write to your mother of your behavior.

_Voulez-vous parier_?— Do you want to bet?

_Elle a fait, en effet_— She did, in fact.

_Que est mauvais_?— What's wrong?

_Mon dieu_— My God.

_Mon amour_— My love.

_Fini_— Finished.


	4. Estranged

**Disclaimer**: See Chapters 1—3. Padma Patil, Elenor Branstone, Owen Cauldwell, and Su Li are also property of J.K. Rowling. 

**Special** **Note**: I know the chapters for this fic are few and far between, but never fear that I've abandoned the project. FE will be completed. Also, I know many of you will be devastatingly disappointed, but there's no French in this chapter. You're sad, I know. ;) Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to my friends **pepsibabe2**, **FollowingBlue**, **ktwo70**, and **Mizneep,** who have all been constant supporters and motivators during the wilderness months.

**Warning**: Just remember that this fic was started before _Order of the Phoenix_ came out, and before I found out that Blaise Zabini is male and that Daphne Greengrass is one of the allusive Slytherin girls.So, it's definitely AU in that sense.

**Forgivable Expectations**

**Chapter 4: Estranged**

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends— _The Sorting Hat_ in_ _Sorcerer's Stone_.

_"The wicked can have only accomplices, the voluptuous have companions in debauchery, self-seekers have associates, the politic assemble the factions, the typical idler has connections, princes have courtiers. Only the virtuous have friends." —_Voltaire_, 'A Philosophical Dictionary.'_

* * *

Pansy ate her breakfast in a stoic silence. Her potions textbook stood open in front of her, but the words might as well have been dancing macaroons for all she noticed. 

Pansy had purposely sat with her back to the Gryffindor table lest she be tempted to maybe glance over there. Not that she _would_ be, of course. It was just better to be safe rather than sorry. She didn't need to be giving Thomas any more ideas about late night Muggle games or the impression that she may possibly be considering attending his stupid Art Club. There was no sense in giving the boy false hope, now was there?

But just because _she_ couldn't see Thomas, it didn't mean that he couldn't see _her_. Every once in a while, Pansy would feel a twitching sensation across her back, as if tiny mice were running up and down her spine, and she would know that Thomas was staring, again. She didn't have to turn around to know that.

It made Pansy's cheeks burn. She was beyond humiliated about how she had acted out on the Quidditch pitch. She had been irrational, and she wouldn't blame Thomas in the least if he thought that she was completely batty.

_Merlin_. The things she'd said…

_I was just getting the impression that you had a thing for bad girls, Thomas. Isn't that why you're suddenly playing at being my stalker?_

If he ever repeated those words to anyone else, then she'd have to relocate to another continent. Morocco was nice this time of year, wasn't it? They spoke French over there, didn't they? Pansy could speak French, and she could really use a tan…

_Are you finally bored with the innocent Gryffindor girls?_

Oh, _merde_. Had that sounded like an invitation? Had she been participating in some very ill advised— dare she call it— _flirting_? Well, not so much _flirting_ as _taunting_, but in a quasi-sexual manner… Did that count as flirting? Did Thomas think so?

Alyssa laughed suddenly, jerking Pansy out of her introspection. Millicent was sitting next to her, with Alyssa sitting across from them. Blaise and Raquel were sitting farther down, a noticeable change in the seating arrangements that morning at the Slytherin table.

"It looks like Moon and Turpin are experiencing some trouble in paradise," Alyssa said with a cruel smile, her eyes focused over Pansy's shoulder.

Pansy turned in her seat in time to see Moon storming out of the Great Hall, Turpin quickly hurrying after him. As soon as the door had closed behind them, a small group of female Ravenclaws— Turpin's friends presumably— began whispering madly amongst themselves.

Pansy snorted and resisted the childish urge to jump up and yell, "_I told you so_!"

And Ravenclaws were supposed to be so smart.

Unbidden, her eyes shifted sideways and met Thomas mid-stare. His dark eyes widened slightly at the returned contact, but then the corners of his generous mouth curved upward slightly. On Draco's mouth, it would have been a smirk. But Thomas just looked like he had a rather amusing secret lurking behind his deceptively innocent expression. Almost-smirking, he lifted his fork and waved it at her in a friendly manner.

Pansy froze guiltily as if she were the one who had been caught staring. Thomas wasn't even being _discreet_ about it. If Finnigan were to just stop gabbing at Brown, and turn his head and look at his friend, then… Well, he would _know_ that… Not that there was anything to know! Just… Well, Gryffindors weren't especially intelligent, were they? Who knew what kind of ridiculous conclusions Finnigan would jump to if he realized that Dean Thomas was blatantly staring at Pansy Parkinson? Or that she was staring back…

Pansy whipped around so fast that her long hair smacked smartly against Millicent's face. The other girl blinked in surprise, before gingerly rubbing her cheek.

Alyssa leaned forward and gave Pansy a conspiring wink. "Serves her right, doesn't it?" she said, grinning like a smug cat.

It took Pansy a moment to realize that Alyssa was still talking about Turpin and Moon. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably in her chest at the thought of… Well, _nothing_. There was absolutely _nothing_ to be anxious about. Pansy knew that. She hadn't done anything wrong, and nor did she plan to. _Nothing_.

However, when Alyssa's words finally digested, her eyes narrowed. What exactly did Alyssa think she knew? Did she know about Turpin and Draco? Why was she assuming that Pansy would be happy about the dissolution of a formerly gag-worthy Ravenclaw romance?

In all her brilliance, Pansy suddenly realized that a combination of a lack of sleep and a huge stack of stress had made her a right unattractive shade of paranoid.

Sometimes she forgot that everyone under the sun knew how she felt – _past tense— _about Draco. Also, Turpin had hardly been cautious about her little tryst, what with coming down to the dungeons late at night, bumping into people, and bursting into pathetic hysterics in front of the first person she'd met.

Sagging just a bit under the strain of it all, Pansy offered Alyssa a weak smile. The other girl appeared content with that, and she continued talking about whatever it was that she and Millicent had been discussing before the disruption.

Pansy stared at her, but the wheels in her brain tuned out the words. She had been surprised to find both Alyssa and Millicent so ready to openly demonstrate support for her. Well, she wasn't surprised that Millicent was avoiding Blaise's company, but one never knew where Alyssa would sway. Even Patcholi Baddock and her friends were sitting nearer to her today than they usually did, despite the fact that Pansy had yet to acknowledge them. Belinda Oakley had been among them, but an icy stare from Pansy had sent her scurrying. _Stupid tart_.

The demonstration of support made her feel both flattered and frustrated. As much as she disliked the turn her house had taken in recent times, it was good to know that she still stood at the top of it. She was in control of this situation, and all of the power rested in her hands.

With that in mind, Pansy spared a glance at Blaise. Her best friend and occasional enemy was clearly refusing to acknowledge the fact that she was being snubbed. She was chatting loudly with a group of wide-eyed lower years. They were probably too mystified by the fact that Blaise Zabini was even speaking to them to be much good at conversation with her, but that hardly mattered. Blaise was her own entertainment.

In another situation, Pansy might have been proud of her for how she was handling this.

However, before she could start feeling sentimental, a bit of Blaise's conversation drifted over to her. "All of the rumors about him are true, of course. He kisses like he's drowning and kisses are air."

Pansy's gaze immediately flinched away from Zabini, and she glared at her textbook. _That_ was for her benefit, no doubt.

Her right hand found her spoon and squeezed it until her knuckles became white. Well, that was fine, but Blaise was going to have to discover what a day without friends or allies was like in Pansy's house. _Damn_ her.

Pansy felt eyes on her, and she turned in time to see Raquel's desperate look from down the table. Raising a stony eyebrow, Pansy purposely turned away.

Unlike Blaise, Raquel was being snubbed by her entire house, rather than just by her year-mates. She was sitting morosely, with an unmistakable amount of space between herself and the surrounding students. She kept sending her housemates silent pleas, which reminded Pansy very much of the not so recent past when the girls had been picking on Millicent.

Pansy doubted that the lower years even knew _why_ they were snubbing two of their queen bees, but they were obediently falling in line.

"Was it true that Belinda Oakley fell asleep in the common room with her arse in the air and her brassiere on her head?" Millicent asked Alyssa cheerfully.

Alyssa glanced up and snorted derisively. "You were there. Didn't you see her with the rug burns all over her face?"

That was enough to brighten Pansy's mood considerably. Millicent laughed. "Was that what those were? I thought she'd been hexed!"

Pansy couldn't remember a morning in which Bulstrode had ever been so talkative. The girl could definitely benefit from Blaise and Raquel's continued absence.

Pansy spared her an amused glance, and then she ran an exhausted hand over her face and silently urged the words in her potions textbook to stop blurring. She genuinely wished that she hadn't put off the homework that was due today in favor of attending that disastrous party. Of course, she'd had no way of knowing that she would be spending the remnants of her night out on the Quidditch pitch with a barmy Gryffindor. However, there was no excuse for bothering to get up so early to make _his_ anti-hangover potion.

Honestly. Snape hadn't _needed_ to allow her into his N.E.W.Ts class. Everyone knew that he only allowed people who had scored an '_Outstanding'_ on their O.W.Ls into Advanced Potions. She had only managed an '_Exceeds Expectations_,' and that was only because of extensive help from… Well, some bastard she was no longer speaking to.

Nonetheless, Snape had gone out on a limb for her, and this was how she was repaying him. Pansy felt a hot flash of shame in her gut, and she guiltily tried to angle the textbook in a way that Snape wasn't likely to be able to see from his place at the head table.

The owl post chose that moment to arrive, and Pansy glanced up with more than the usual feeling of trepidation. There was no good news that could come from the owl post; especially not today. She didn't want to hear from her parents. Even if her father _had_ gotten the promotion, then it wouldn't do Pansy any good since she wasn't going to be speaking to a certain arrogant bastard of a Malfoy _ever again_.

Predictably, a familiar owl dropped a letter directly into Pansy's oatmeal. Millicent and Alyssa at least had the decency to cover and turn their faces away before they snickered.

Scowling, Pansy removed her mother's missive from her oatmeal and attempted to wipe it off. She gave the bird a foul look as it settled down in front of her.

"You're expecting a reward of some kind, aren't you, Winston?" she growled.

The owl cocked its head at her.

Pansy gave a disgusted sigh and offered the bird a piece of bacon, which it took and flew off without so much as a by your leave. She shook her head as she watched it return toward her mother's correspondence room back home. Paying more for the "best" was clearly overrated.

She snapped the seal and two sheets of parchment rolled out for her. Pansy blinked in surprise. She wasn't accustomed to getting long letters from home, just the usual perfunctory notes.

_Pansy Marie_—

She flinched and made sure her milk jug was blocking the letter from any roaming eyes. If anyone else called her Pansy-Marie, then she was going to have to hex them. The detention wouldn't be worth it.

_Your father and I have been enjoying our stay in Guernsey. _

Pansy frowned. Since when were her parents on an island in Southern Britain?

_There was one rather unpleasant visit from an auror a week or so ago, but the misunderstanding was cleared up, and he proved pleasant company over tea and Welsh rarebit. _

She had to stop and re-read that sentence. Her parents had been interrogated by an auror? On _Guernsey_? What the hell was going on?

_Your father has been benefiting from the sun. I've heard your weather has been atrocious._

Pansy was distracted from the letter when the doors to the Great Hall were abruptly thrown open, and Draco sauntered in.

Yes, _sauntered_. Son of a bitch.

Pansy felt a deeper kind of shame at the sight of him than she had for neglecting her schoolwork. If Draco had been ignorant of her _former_ feelings for him before – although she didn't know how he _could_ have been— then he could hardly be now.

_I just want to state for the record that you could never stay away from me. Even if you ever tried, mon amour. _

Her face burned mercilessly at the fresh memory of only a few hours ago. Far less forgivable, her body still burned from the sensory memory of Draco's mouth and hands. She could still _feel_ his lips and breath against her face. Even after everything, her body still yearned for his, and his mere presence now made it flush warmly.

She grit her teeth with annoyance and immediately began gathering up her things.

Blaise noticed Draco's entrance, too, and she visibly preened like a stuffed turkey. The younger girls sitting with her looked up at him expectantly, probably expecting him to drop to a knee and propose after the way that Zabini had been raving all morning.

For a flash of a second, Pansy saw red. Blaise could probably still feel Draco on her skin as well. Maybe Draco had lied to her, and they really had… Pansy shuddered. She couldn't even bare to _think_ the words. It was just too horrible.

Her shoulders tensed as she, too, waited for Draco's response.

If he could feel the anticipation that was virtually wafting in the air around them, hinged entirely on his approach, then Draco didn't show it. In fact, he barely even glanced at either Blaise _or_ Pansy as he made his way over to their table.

Pansy frowned at this. Considering their disastrous conversation earlier that morning and the horrible things he'd done the night before, the least he owed her was a contrite _look_.

Blaise, however, didn't seem too fazed. "Morning, Draco," she said sweetly when he was near enough to hear, practically batting her eyelashes at him.

Draco blinked blankly at her. She smiled encouragingly at him, but he hardly looked impressed by her simpering attitude. He frowned a little, and his left eyebrow rose by a tiny fraction.

The female population held its breath at the brink of this social precipice. The scales of power could tip if he would only…

"Zabini," he finally said coldly, before leaning over Crabbe's shoulder and drawing Goyle into a conversation.

Or _not_.

Pansy let a tense breath out that she hadn't even realized she was holding in. Well, then.

Blaise looked shocked at the brush-off, and Pansy could hardly blame her. She had probably thought that Draco was her path to power over Pansy, and now her path was in shambles.

Well, _good_.

Still bitter, but strangely satisfied, Pansy continued to gather up her things. She still had an assignment to complete, and a minimal length of time left to do so. Plus, she had an entire day of avoidance to plan out.

She left before Draco could sit down.

* * *

Pansy desperately attempted to finish her Potions assignment during her Advanced History of Magic lecture. She didn't feel any guilt in the slightest about ignoring the professor. The curriculum had been revised in recent years so that the focus was mainly on dark wizards and attempts at regicide and coups d'état. Pansy, of course, was already familiar with these things, and she felt more than a little bitter about the staff's transparency. 

The eating pattern hadn't been the only one altered by the previous night's activities. Pansy had been sure to sit as far away as possible from both Draco and Blaise upon entering the classroom, subsequently disrupting the usual Hufflepuff seating pattern as well as the Slytherins'.

She had taken Alyssa with her, leaving Blaise with no choice but to sit beside Raquel. Millicent was still sitting beside Susan Bones, like usual.

Of course, there were grumbles at the seating disruption, especially from the Gryffindors, but they didn't really have a choice, seeing as there had never officially been a seating chart in any of their classes to begin with.

It didn't take a genius to tell that there was some dissension within the Slytherin ranks. Therefore, Pansy didn't give it a second thought when Thomas gave her an amused look from his own seat.

Initially, Draco had merely smirked at the change in seating arrangements. Much to Pansy's frustration, he hadn't demonstrated any other reaction to the house tensions since then.

It made Pansy's blood boil. He was behaving as if nothing had happened, like it _didn't matter_ that Pansy was no longer speaking to him. As if none of this was his fault.

Well, Pansy could play that game, too. She didn't _need_ him. The show of support from her house members even after Draco and Blaise had publicly humiliated her was proof enough of that.

And why should she even _want_ him back? It had only been about eight hours since she had given Draco that potion, and she wasn't _missing_ him.

After only eight hours…

Rubbish.

He was such a bastard. She wasn't obsessing, of course. He just was.

Pansy was above all thoughts of him, now. She hardly even _looked_ at him throughout the class period. She surely wasn't still planning out hexes to plant around his room for him even when the two of them separated from the pack and headed towards their Advanced Potions class.

She did, however, walk several paces ahead of him and plant herself next to the first available Ravenclaw, which happened to be Padma Patil. Draco merely rolled his eyes.

Pansy forgot about Draco, though, when it was time to turn in their homework. She knew well enough that her work was for shit. She wasn't one of those blessed people who somehow managed to hurriedly churn out gold moments before an assignment was due.

She kept her eyes averted from Snape's as she hastily dropped her parchment onto the pile and then hurried back to her seat.

Her nerves kept her jumpy and tense as she attempted to focus on the assigned work on the board. Patil asked her if she was all right, but Pansy rebuked her harshly enough to silence the other girl. She was being ridiculous, of course. It was only one assignment. Maybe Snape wouldn't even look—

Ah, crap. He was already grading them.

Pansy wanted very badly to gnaw on her nails, but good breeding prevented her. Instead, she stared intently at Snape's expressions from under her eyelashes.

However, it struck her after most of the period had already passed, and Snape had yet to howl in disgust at any of the hand-ins, that she may have very well gotten by. He must have graded her homework by then. Well, huh.

The revelation lightened her mood considerably. Feeling generous, she actually contributed to the last bit of the project that Padma had basically been doing herself, although she never complained. The worried looks she kept giving Pansy implied that she thought she was experiencing personal problems, but eh. Whatever worked for her.

The bell finally rang and Pansy began ecstatically throwing things in her bag.

Snape's voice cut through her relief. "A word, Miss Parkinson?"

_Damn it_.

Shoulders slumping, Pansy made her way to the front. He was going to drop her from the class, and she was going to have to explain why to her parents.

Snape gave her a severe glare. "What is this?" he asked, holding up her homework.

Pansy looked around uncomfortably. She wished the remaining students would hurry up so that she could do this without an audience. She realized Draco was purposely hanging back. He couldn't quite conceal his smirk.

Scowling, she turned back to Snape and muttered, "My homework, Sir."

"I was afraid of that," he said darkly. He handed back her parchment and there was a large, condemning _C_ on it, appropriately written in red ink.

Pansy felt her face heat up, and Snape continued. "Keep in mind, Miss Parkinson, that a continued poor performance in my class will result in removal from my presence."

Pansy clenched her fists at her sides, and said dully, "Yes, Sir." So much for that infamous Slytherin favoritism.

Snape apparently realized that Draco was still there, because he shifted his attention, and raised an eyebrow at him. "You wouldn't want to be late, would you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked disappointed, but he obligingly cleared from the room.

Pansy mentally flipped him off.

Once they were alone, she scowled at her feet, unsure if he was going to continue barraging her.

Snape was still staring at her. "Now, Miss Parkinson." He leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk in the professional manner that she had occasionally caught Draco emulating in front of a mirror when he thought he was alone. "Have you heard about the art club meeting this week?"

Pansy blinked in surprise. "Err…"

"A student has asked the headmaster for permission to start one, and I understand the objective of this group is more than the usual excuse of using school funds to illegally order butterbooze and opium."

Pansy stared at him. "There's a club that orders opium?"

Snape glared at her. "Have you gone deaf, Miss Parkinson, or are you just not listening?"

"Err, sorry," she said, wondering if he was being particularly nasty to her because of the homework assignment, or if he hadn't been able to brew himself his _own_ hangover potion that morning. Come to think of it, just because she hadn't been able to find any alcohol blatantly lying about in his fridge didn't mean that he didn't have one of those secret stashes somewhere. "The art club?"

"So, am I correct in assuming that you'll be attending?"

She frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Professor, you do realize who started the club, don't you?"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "I can't see how that would be important. Unless it was Potter, of course. The only talent that _boy_ has ever demonstrated is getting his head through doors."

Pansy inwardly sighed at the recurring challenge of getting the male influences in her life to focus on anything other than Harry Potter. "No, but close."

Snape looked livid. "_Granger_?"

For pete's sake. "Dean Thomas, Sir." She almost felt guilty just saying his full name, as if it might betray the fact that Thomas had held her ankle in his hands mere hours ago. A traitorous tingle went up her leg at the memory.

He sneered at that. "Unfortunate, to be sure. But it could be worse."

"Are you supervising?" she asked curiously.

"I should say not!" he snapped.

"Oh," she said, feeling relieved that she wouldn't have to share him with any up-shooting Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

"Nonetheless, I still expect you to be there on Thursday."

Pansy was incredulous. "You still want me to go?"

Snape gave her his best _you're-an-idiot-unworthy-of-my-time_ glower. "Hence the point to this conversation."

Pansy didn't know how to respond, so she just floundered ala Neville Longbottom on one of his good days. "B-But… Sir, you can't—"

Snape began rubbing his temples as if to ward off an oncoming headache, and Pansy's eyebrows rose of their own volition. Hangover, then. Ah, well. Idols were meant to fall from pedestals.

"Did you not come to me some years back, Miss Parkinson, and request that I donate my valuable time to guiding your artistic progress?"

Chagrined, she nodded unhappily, although Pansy was sorely tempted to remind him that her parents had offered to pay him for the trouble.

"Well, as your advisor, I'm telling you to take advantage of every available opportunity for developing your artwork. If that means meeting once a week with a group of what will most likely turn out to be amateurish wannabes, then so be it."

Pansy bit back her protests and focused on channeling her anger inward. "Yes, Sir," she said stonily.

He grabbed a bit of parchment and scribbled something on it with his distinct scrawl. "You're late, so take this," he said, handing her the pass.

Snape went back to grading, and Pansy assumed that she had been dismissed. She immediately stormed out of his classroom without looking back.

What the hell had she been dragged into?

* * *

Pansy never pretended to be a saint. 

However, even she eventually got bored of watching her friends suffer, and she retreated to the library.

The library really was a fantastic place.

There were fascinating books on just about every subject imaginable, it had a very serene environment to work in, and Pansy was sure that if given the chance, Madame Pince could be a fantastic conversationalist.

Best of all, there were no backstabbing housemates lurking around the bookcases; just Pansy and an innocent assortment of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Bloody fantastic place.

Well, except for the Patil girl standing awkwardly beside her table. _That_ she could live without.

Pansy sighed inwardly and continued to ignore Padma/Parvati— bloody— Patil. She started humming a tune inside her head.

The other girl coughed uncomfortably and shifted a bit in Pansy's peripheral vision.

What were the lyrics to that old Weird Sisters song? Something about bat wings… Or was that her Potions homework from yesterday? She rolled her eyes to herself and attempted to focus on Arithmancy.

"Err… Pansy?"

Maybe if she didn't answer, then Patil would take a hint and go away. She didn't want to be seen socializing with a blood-traitor like Patil. Whichever one it was.

"Pansy?"

Oh, bloody _hell_. Pansy finally sat back and gave Patil a cold stare. "Is there a particular reason for why you're disturbing me?" she said icily.

The girl blushed, revealing herself to be Padma. Pansy had never seen Parvati Patil _sincerely_ blush in her entire life.

"Well, it's just that you're using the only copy of _Nestor's Guide to Advanced Arithmancy_. I was wondering if we could maybe share it? You see, I haven't exactly mastered that new formula we learned, and that test is coming up..."

Bloody hell. Was Patil in _all_ of her advanced courses? Well, of course she was. Ravenclaw. Right.

Pansy strongly considered childishly hugging the book to her chest and refusing to let go of it, if only to keep it away from Patil. She didn't fancy sharing her book _or_ her table; especially not with _her_.

However, Patil appeared to be on the verge of sitting down next to her whether she liked it or not, and there wasn't anyone around to see… So…

Pansy smacked the book onto Patil's chest before the girl could pull a chair back. "Take it," she snapped. "I was finished with it, anyway."

Padma caught the book clumsily, clearly not expecting to have it shoved into her arms. "Oh! Well, um, I didn't mean to just—"

"Just take the bloody book," Pansy said dully, already standing up. She left her things on the table and headed toward the back bookcases. She thought she heard Patil mutter, "Thanks," but Pansy didn't acknowledge it. Hopefully, Patil would be gone before she got back.

Frowning, Pansy scanned the bookshelves for a book relevant to anything she was currently studying. Truth be told, she wasn't really in the mood to spend any more time on her homework. She'd been in the library for what felt like two days straight, and there was only so much time one could spend studying for NEWTs before one wanted to drive a sharpened quill through one's own eye.

Unsurprisingly, she'd been avoiding the drama that she was sure was just waiting for her back in the Slytherin common room.

Unfortunately, she wasn't _that_ good of a student, and as wonderful as the library _really_ was, she was feeling ready enough to brave the ridiculous melodrama if the alternative was to stay and be harassed by overachieving Ravenclaws.

Pansy turned a bit too quickly, and she knocked against one of the bookcases. A large cloud of dust erupted in her face, and she sneezed so hard that she actually stumbled backward.

She sniffled and wiped at her nose, glaring angrily at the bookcase. When was the last time someone had been back here to dust the bloody books? Honestly. It wasn't as if it were particularly _hard_ to mutter a cleaning spell. Not to mention the graffiti on the back wall. Madame Pince was clearly neglecting her job. If she'd thought it would do any good, Pansy might have considered reporting the old bat. She didn't have to be a prefect to be a conscientious student.

Just then, a random book caught her eye.

Pansy had to squint to read the title— because the lighting back there really was _atrocious_— but a friendly and familiar word had jumped out at her. _Walden's Fascinating History of Wizard Art Through the Ages, Volume II_. Huh. It should have been under A for _Art_, and Pansy was at the end of the alphabetic spectrum. Old Pince really was losing it.

Pansy lifted her hand to retrieve the book, but she was abruptly hindered when two arms suddenly enclosed around her.

She let out a squeak as her arms were trapped at her sides, and she was roughly pulled back against a warm chest. Pansy was too surprised at first to struggle, but her brain quickly kicked into gear and alerted her to the shocking revelation that she was being _attacked_.

She opened her mouth to yell out for help, but a hand immediately clamped over her mouth.

Panicking, Pansy started struggling wildly. Unfortunately, her attacker had a strong hold on her, and there was no one near enough to be of any assistance to her.

However, Pansy stopped struggling out of surprise when she heard a familiar chuckle.

Fury and an entirely different emotion rose up in her when she felt Draco smile against her neck.

"Hello," he breathed into her ear, taking his hand off of her mouth.

Pansy immediately increased her effort, but Draco merely tightened his grip until she finally stopped struggling with a gasp. "I can't breathe!" she hissed.

"If you're speaking, then you clearly can."

"Let go of me, you git!"

"Oh, insults. Well, I suppose that's a step up from silent sulking."

"_Sulking_? Why you—"

"Pansy, darling, must we continue in such a juvenile manner? I would very much like to speak to you in a civilized, adult manner, if you wouldn't mind."

"I'll show you a juvenile manner!" she growled, attempting to kick at his legs.

He laughed. "Are you seriously— Hey — Ow!" he cried when one of her heels connected with his shin. Draco hissed in pain. "Damn it, Parkinson!"

He released his grip, but only long enough so that he could turn and shove her up against a wall, pinning her by the shoulders. She tried to hit him in his flank, but he foiled her by grabbing her wrists, instead, and holding them against her sides. He used his entire body to pinion her against the wall so that she could barely move.

Faces close, breaths gasping, and Pansy's heart pumping, they glared at each other.

She still felt as furious as a wet cat, but the sharp press of his hips pinning her in place combined with her rage made it almost a physical effort to repress the desire to rock up into him.

Draco's cheeks were pink with the effort of restraining her, and his teeth were bared as if he might bite her. "Are you ready to be a grown-up?" he asked menacingly, his breath warm on her face.

"Not at all," she choked out, almost unbearably reminded of the night before when he'd bitten her neck. She could still feel his teeth against the skin. "Why should I talk to you?"

"I'm your _friend_," he said in a low growl. It could have been her imagination, but his leg seemed to be slipping between hers. Pansy felt an undesired warmth go up her spine.

"Some friend," she said sourly, struggling to quell her physical reaction to him.

Draco frowned at her. "What the hell is your problem?" he snapped. "The sulking was cute at first, but now it's just getting on my nerves."

Pansy glared at him and tried again to dislodge him from her. "Then leave me the hell alone!"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her and finally liberated her arms. He moved out of her way with a mocking gesture as if to say, '_After you_.'

"Fine," he said with far more composure than she could muster. "When you decide to start behaving like a woman of your station, then you can come find me. I'll probably be busy, but that's to be expected."

"Do you even know why I'm upset with you?" she cried in frustration, not bothering to lower her voice.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but another student suddenly appeared from behind the bookcase and hissed, "_Sh_!" at her.

Out of patience, Pansy grabbed the nearest book and threw it at the unprepared girl. "Bugger off, damn you!"

The girl yelped, and disappeared again. The bloody voyeur had probably been watching the entire time that Pansy was being attacked and done nothing, the freak. Probably a sexually repressed Hufflepuff.

She returned her attention to Draco, who had folded his arms and adopted a distant expression as if to imply that he was bored. It might have worked if Pansy hadn't seen it a thousand times before.

"Well, _do_ you?" she asked, sounding a bit hysterical, if one were being honest.

Draco shrugged. "I already told you that I didn't bugger Zabini," he drawled.

Pansy wanted to pull her hair out. "It's not _about_ that! I thought that you—"

"What?" he interrupted, his eyes flashing. "_What_ did you think?"

Pansy hesitated, realizing what she'd been about to admit. Flushing, she attempted to keep down the hysterical emotions that were threatening to rise up. Draco was challenging her to admit that she had been deluding herself with romantic notions about him. She stared determinedly down at her shoes, struggling not to cry. If she cried now, then she'd never be able to look him in the eye again. Slytherins didn't cry, remember?

"It's just… Why did you _do_ that?" she finally whispered, her voice breaking a little. She raised vulnerable eyes to him, desperately wanting a reason to forgive him.

Draco stared at her for a moment, clearly registering the shift in mood, and then he dropped his cool persona and reached out for her. Pansy went willingly into his arms, tucking her face into his shoulder. She felt worse about herself for doing it than if she had simply thrown herself at his feet and pitifully begged him to be faithful to her, but… Well, there was no _but_; only weakness on her part.

Sometimes even _she_ wanted to smack herself in the face and yell, '_Get over it_!'

How pathetic could you get?

Draco pulled back and gently gripped her shoulders. He leaned down so that they were eye-to-eye, their foreheads almost touching. "Pans, next to my mother, you're the only woman that matters. You know that, don't you?"

Pansy wanted nothing more in the world then to believe that. Her entire future happiness was based upon it. She would only be deluding herself further if she thought otherwise. There was no future without Draco in it.

She gulped back the lump in her throat and gave him a weak smile. "So you say."

He smiled, and Pansy impulsively pulled him into a kiss. Their lips were laced with desperation, and Pansy could practically taste it. It was a sad imitation of what she had felt last night.

Draco sighed and hugged her, again. "I won't shag Zabini if you won't go running off."

Pansy frowned against his collar. It was as close to an admission as she was probably ever going to get.

But she'd take what she could get. She always did.

Only thirty-two hours and they were back to normal.

Relinquishing the familiar smell of his shirt, she moved away from him. "Did you come all this way just to physically assault me, or did you actually intend to work?" she asked, noticing his bag lying near their feet. How had she not heard him set it down?

Draco snorted. "All _what_ way? I was just harassing the house elves in the kitchen before I came here."

Pansy gave him a sideways look. "You could have just lied, you know. To make me feel better?"

Draco snickered and followed her back to her table. He dropped his bag next to hers and collapsed in a chair. "So, what are we doing? Writing a groveling letter to Snape, begging forgiveness for a shotty paper worthy of only a first year Hufflepuff?"

Pansy gave him an annoyed glare. "You don't know how shotty my paper was," she grumbled. "Besides, it was your fault."

Draco smirked at her. "I don't know how you're justifying _that_, but it's amusing that you're trying."

"Shut your gob," she snipped as she reached into her bag for her Herbology notes. A piece of parchment sticking out of a textbook caught her eye. She tugged it out and realized that it was her mother's letter. She had forgotten about it.

Draco lazily flipped through a textbook as Pansy skimmed through the first page of her mother's missive. Mostly it was just societal drivel, but… Wait.

"Draco!" she snapped suddenly.

He flicked his eyes upward and raised an eyebrow at her. "The last time I checked."

"My mother wasn't invited to your mother's tea, again," she announced irritably.

He blinked as if that was the last thing he expected her to say. "What?"

Pansy scowled at him. "I _said_ that _your_ mother is still continuing to snub _my_ mother as if we were no better than half-blood trash," she elaborated slowly and bitterly. "What's going on? I thought you said that Narcissa liked me!"

"She does!"

"But…"

"My mother likes _you_," he said clearly. "That doesn't mean that she likes your mother."

"That's bullshit," Pansy spat. "You know as well as I do that your mother wouldn't like me if she didn't approve of my parents. Unless you simply _lied_, of course, and your mother never said anything approving of me, at all."

Draco ignored that last bit. "_I_ happen to adore you," he purred, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "But your mother is another story."

Pansy eyed him uncertainly. "Don't be ridiculous. She's never been anything but a perfectly simpering idiot around you. Don't pretend you don't like that."

"Sure, but what does she say behind my back?" he said pointedly.

She smirked. "That you're a tiny tyrant with an attitude problem."

"_What_?"

"Well, who _doesn't_ say that?" she said innocently.

"Parkinson—"

"Yeah, yeah. You're insecure about your height, I know. Does Zabini's mother get invited?"

Draco groaned and looked at her incredulously. "What is your obsession with Blaise Zabini?"

Pansy gave him a dangerous look. "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that she's holding the proverbial knife poised at my back, and certain other _allies_ of mine tend to get drunk and give her opportunities for sabotage," she said dryly.

He glared at her. "I don't think that's it."

"_I_ do."

"Perhaps, my darling Pansy, you're just a tad bit insecure?"

"Are you saying that I have something to be insecure about?" she growled.

Draco smacked his forehead.

Pansy stared down at the letter, biting her lower lip. "Your mother likes me, then?"

"I believe we've established that."

Thank goodness. Without Narcissa Malfoy's support, entrance into the Malfoy clan would be undoubtedly more difficult.

"Is that Patil?" Draco asked suddenly.

Pansy glanced over her shoulder at Padma, who was sitting a few tables over. "Yep. She stole my Arithmancy book."

"She knows where the library is?" he said with amazement.

Pansy grinned at him. "It's the smart one."

"Ah. Well, that explains it, then."

Draco seemed to have a further comment on the subject, but then his gaze suddenly focused on something over Pansy's shoulder. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

Already suspecting a competitor for his attention, Pansy turned in her seat with a frown on her face. When she realized that it was Blaise standing proudly in the doorway, her displeasure only deepened.

"I suppose you'll be needing some bonding time?" Draco said with a smug-looking smirk.

She was too annoyed to even attempt a retort. Everything was his bloody fault, so he didn't need to be so damned _amused_ by it all.

"I'll just be retrieving that book from Patil," he said pleasantly, hastily abandoning her at the table.

She hated him, pure and simple. Albeit, not as much as she should, obviously.

Pansy felt Blaise behind her, and she gave an irritated sigh. The social ostracism had been so entertaining while it had lasted, too.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask that you'll have disappeared if I concentrate hard enough?" she said aloud, feeling resigned.

Blaise ignored her and moved around the table so that she was facing Pansy. "So, are you still giving me the cold shoulder?" she asked casually. There was no hint of any sort of anxiety about her, as if she were merely inquiring about the weather as opposed to the future of her isolated state.

Pansy smirked amusedly. "Are you here with your tail between your legs?" she asked bluntly, leaning back in her chair as to fully appreciate this rare moment when Blaise Zabini was practically prostrate before her.

Blaise's mouth formed a sour line, her cool façade finally slipping.

Pansy laughed. "I'll take that as a _yes_," she said.

Blaise rolled her eyes and dropped into the seat across from Pansy. "Take it however way you want it, Parkinson, because this'll never happen again."

"Let's hope," Pansy said, abruptly serious. Her countenance became grave, and she was suddenly in the mood for blatant honesty. "I'm not an idiot, Zabini. I know what you were trying to do."

Blaise merely raised a perfect eyebrow at her, clearly unaffected by Pansy's admission. "Do you?"

"Yes," she said, smiling mirthlessly. "Don't think that you'll get away with it."

Blaise met Pansy's stare, and her mouth slowly curved into a haughty smirk. "Has anyone ever told you that you have an issue with paranoia?"

"Paranoia implies irrationality," she said evenly.

"So it does."

Blaise glanced over at Draco. "Is he chatting up Patil?"

"Do you care?" Pansy shot back.

Blaise met her challenging stare, and said, "No."

"Good," Pansy said shortly.

Blaise tilted her head and glanced over Pansy with an evaluating expression. Pansy raised an eyebrow, but otherwise kept her face deadpanned.

When Blaise finally spoke, she said something unexpected. "He doesn't belong to you, you know."

Pansy glared at her, feeling prickly and exposed. "I never said that he did. None of this was ever really about Draco. As always, it's about you trying to out-do me." She shook her head tiredly. "I'm tired of fighting with you, Blaise. There's no point to it, and it's a downright pain in my ass."

Blaise's eyes flashed. "You always think that everything is all about you."

"Isn't it?" Pansy shot back, her own eyes fierce.

Blaise tensed briefly at that, but then she sat back slowly, as if to mirror Pansy's stance.

"Yes," she finally conceded with a bitter smile. "For now."

Her tone sent a foreboding shiver down Pansy's back.

_Memo to self: Friend or no, never turn your back on a Zabini. Ever._

She didn't need to write that one down. Nothing new.

Pansy leaned across the table and said in a low voice, "So long as it is, you back the fuck off, Zabini. The past two days have stood as a pretty reliable indication of who would win if we ever had a real war. Ostracism is _nothing_."

An ugly expression passed over Blaise's face, indignant fury plain as day, but it was quickly masked. She only smiled tightly and shrugged.

Satisfied, Pansy sat back again, and gave a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose now that _you've_ been brought back into the fold, we'll have to forgive Raquel, too, won't we?"

Blaise shrugged, easily shifting with the atmosphere, like a clever chameleon. "I'm sure she's learned her lesson, but it couldn't hurt to give it another day or two," she said carelessly.

Pansy smiled at the irony.

Blaise returned her attention to Draco and Patil. "I can never tell which one is which without the scarves or crests," she said glibly. "But I suppose it hardly matters when the entire family is a bunch of blood-traitors."

"That one's the Ravenclaw," Pansy said, suddenly feeling like Patil's social delegate.

She noticed that Patil didn't seem particularly happy about sharing her table with Draco, who was leaning close to her to say something.

"Could you ever tell them apart?" Blaise asked. "You were friendly with them once, weren't you?"

Pansy's defenses immediately shot up. "Our parents sent us to the same tutor, if that's what you mean," she said shortly.

"I thought you were chummy back in the day," Blaise said, sneering slightly. "Best friends and all that? Tying bows in each other's hair?"

"Well, I thought that you had a crush on Potter during fourth year," Pansy said sweetly, although she was restraining herself from stabbing her quill through Zabini's eye.

Blaise looked appropriately appalled. "I bloody well _didn't_!" she said shrilly.

"All right, then," Pansy said with a pointed look.

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Right." She looked over at Draco, again, and frowned. "He really is working his way through the Ravenclaws, isn't he? What is he doing chatting up a blood-traitor?"

"He isn't," Pansy said quickly. "He told me that touching a blood-traitor would be like fondling a blast-ended skrewt."

"I doubt very much that Malfoy would seriously take politics into consideration when he has the opportunity to lift a skirt," Blaise said bitterly.

Pansy didn't bother hiding her smile at Blaise's translucent resentment. It served her right.

"At least it's not the Gryffindor," Blaise continued, the thought apparently giving her sour taste in her mouth.

"He wouldn't," Pansy insisted.

Blaise's icy eyes flicked back to her slyly. "Were you really friends with Parvati Patil? I mean, _really_?" she asked, smirking.

Pansy gave an irritated sigh, entirely bored of the subject. "Pretty girls like that don't _have_ real friends," she said dryly, avoiding the question.

Blaise snickered. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if Patil had gotten into Slytherin?" she mused.

"Which one?"

"The one with less than half a brain."

"Would have been eaten alive the first week," Pansy smirked.

"Or she would have driven us all to a mass suicide. That would have been one way to get rid of us."

"They'll be rid of us soon enough," Pansy said sourly.

"Not for long, though," Blaise said softly.

They shared a dark look.

A sharp slapping noise abruptly brought Pansy and Blaise's attention back to Draco and Patil.

Pansy choked on a surprised laugh.

A furious-looking Patil was gathering up her things like she couldn't get away fast enough. Draco was holding his cheek with an expression of pure disbelief on his face.

Oh, it wasn't possible.

Patil had actually struck Draco across the face. Someone had turned him down.

Pansy was suddenly so exuberant that she forgot to be indignant about Draco's lapse in self-imposed morals.

Bloody well served him _right_.

Pansy and Blaise shared a conspirator's smile before leaving the table to join Draco across the room. They both flanked his sides and grinned unabashedly at him.

"Did I just see what I think I saw?" Pansy asked amusedly.

"I think you _did_," Blaise contributed smugly. "Malfoy just got _rejected._ By a _blood-traitor_ unworthy of licking our boots."

"With _witnesses_, mind you."

"How _embarrassing_."

"Can you imagine what people would _say_ if they knew?"

Blaise shook her head mockingly. "It's a good thing that we can be so tip-lipped, then."

"_Indeed_."

They both snickered simultaneously.

Draco didn't respond to their taunts, if he even heard them.

Expression blank, he slowly lowered his hand from his face. There was a pink mark already forming where Patil's hand had connected with the skin. As if something suddenly clicked inside his head, his blue-gray eyes became so dark that Pansy could almost see a storm brewing behind them.

They were focused on the now vacant doorway.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Pansy hesitated outside the door to Professor Hector's classroom. 

This was a stupid idea.

She fidgeted anxiously, shifting the easel against her hip.

What was Snape thinking, anyway? _He_ wasn't even going to be here.

Slytherins, even former ones, really were sadistic. How unfair that it should be directed at _her_.

Pansy shook out her free arm and rolled her neck in an effort to relieve the tension that had been building all day. She really was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. It was just a stupid club that she was being _forced_ to attend by her head of house. Who cared if Thomas was going to be there? It didn't mean anything that she was joining his club. It could have been anyone, and Snape still would have made her. She was a Parkinson. She could handle this.

Keeping with that thought, Pansy lifted her chin and turned the knob to the classroom.

Laughter immediately assaulted her ears, and Pansy hesitated again. She was about to turn and flee when the door was abruptly ripped open from the inside.

Gaping like a goldfish, she stared up into Thomas' surprised face. They blinked at each other.

"You came," he said perplexedly.

"Very observant, Thomas," she said weakly, still wanting to bolt. Standing this close to him made her embarrassment over her previous behavior return painfully. Flushing, she turned her face away.

"I didn't think you would," he said honestly.

Pansy stared at him, absolutely mortified. "You mean that you only invited me here as a lark?" she asked angrily.

"No!" he said quickly, eyes widening. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what _did_ you mean?"

"Well, you barely spoke to me in Herbology yesterday…"

"Not that it matters, but it was bookwork all period," she snapped. "And maybe if you'd had something interesting to say, then I would have."

Thomas gave her a look, but he smiled indulgently. "I'm glad you came."

Pansy felt uncomfortable as the recipient of that smile, and she frowned at him.

"Are you going to move or what?" she asked pointedly.

Still smiling, Thomas moved aside easily with a slight bow, once again reminding her of Draco. She shook off the unsettling connection and brushed into the room.

There were three other students there. A small boy with corn-yellow hair was talking excitedly and making hand gestures to a girl with a bouncy-looking ponytail.

When he noticed her standing in the doorway, he broke off his story and promptly came over to her, offering a pink hand and a bright smile. "Well, hello! Cauldwell's my name. Isn't this club a splendid idea?"

Pansy stared at him, caught off guard. "Err..."

The ponytail girl rolled her eyes and shoved the boy over. "His name's Owen. I'm Ellie."

She set down her easel and took the offered hand. "Pansy."

"Oh, I know who you are," the girl said lightly. "You're the Slytherin Quidditch captain's girlfriend. He always gives you the snitch after Slytherin wins."

Pansy flinched, and she felt Thomas' eyes burning a hole into the back of her head. "Uh, no, actually," she said, disconcerted by the immediate connection to Draco made by an absolute stranger. "Um, not. His girlfriend, I mean."

"Friends with benefits, then?"

Pansy turned toward the new voice and saw a willowy Asian girl standing up from what must have been a transfigured couch. She immediately recognized her as a Ravenclaw from her year. They shared a class or two. Her name was…?

The girl brushed a curtain of hair out of her face and gave Pansy a sly grin. "I thought you said she wasn't coming," she said to Thomas.

He shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't think she was."

"Silly man," she said teasingly. "Don't you know never to attempt to predict a woman's movements?"

Thomas laughed and put a hand on Pansy's shoulder. "Especially this one. I don't think even _she_ understands what she's doing half the time."

Pansy looked between them, and then at Thomas' hand on her shoulder, feeling as if she had just been admitted to St. Mungo's. She might as well have been, with the way they were speaking over her head.

She frowned and removed Thomas' hand from her person. "Keep your hands to yourself, Thomas," she said crossly.

The Ravenclaw raised an eyebrow at that. She gave a flustered Dean an amused look, but she still held out her hand to Pansy. "Su Li."

She took the hand and nodded. "Li. Chinese, right? Are you related to Cho Chang?"

Thomas winced, and Su immediately stiffened. She took back her hand, and shared a disbelieving look with Thomas. "Because we're both Chinese?" she said incredulously.

Pansy could sense that she'd said something wrong, and she felt her face heating up uncomfortably. She wasn't used to meeting new people, and this obviously wasn't a very good start. Was it wrong to inquire about one's nationality?

Ellie saved her. She took her elbow and guided her over to the couch. "If you're not with him, then why does he always give you the snitch at the end of the game?" she asked curiously.

"Just a tradition," Pansy said guardedly. She wasn't liking all of these personal questions. What house was this girl from, anyway?

Ellie leaned forward conspiratorially. "The Hufflepuff captain is easy on the eyes, but I think yours is the most gorgeous. Other than Harry Potter, of course."

Pansy narrowed her eyes, both at the appraisement of Draco as well as at the indirect slight against him. At least that answered her question. Hufflepuff. Figured. She must have been a lower year, since she couldn't remember Draco ever bragging about shagging her. Although, she didn't think he'd ever been with Su Li, either. Huh. Surprising.

Owen dropped onto the couch on her spare side and eagerly asked, "What kind of art do you do?"

Unhappy by the double assault, Pansy leaned back so that she could see both of them without leaving a side unprotected. "I paint," she said shortly.

"Oh, Ellie does, too!" he said excitedly.

The younger girl shrugged modestly. "Not really. I try, but—"

"Oh, no, she's good!" he interjected. "Mum always shows her paintings to visitors."

"Wait. Are you related?" Pansy asked them confusedly.

"Cousins," Ellie said ruefully.

"Interesting," Pansy said dully. She glared at Thomas, mentally channeling, '_Save me now, you bastard_.'

He grinned at her, but made no move towards helping her. Instead, he walked over to the blank easel that she'd brought. "Why didn't you bring your paintings?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

"If you want to see them, then you can fork out the money to see them in a gallery," she said sweetly.

The other members of the art club stared at her. Owen's mouth fell open. "Your work is in a gallery?" he asked in an awed voice.

"Well, no. But Professor Snape said that I'm a shoe-in after I graduate," she said smugly.

Thomas and Li exchanged exasperated looks.

Just then, the door to the classroom opened, and Terry Boot shuffled in, carrying a large sketchpad. "Sorry I'm late," he said apologetically. "I was—" He froze when he saw Pansy sitting on the couch. He stared at her blankly, as if he couldn't believe he was seeing her there. Pansy automatically stiffened under his gaze.

"Take a picture," she snapped.

Boot's expression hardened, and he turned to Thomas. "I thought she wasn't coming," he said woodenly.

"Clearly, he was mistaken," she said, feeling the distinct urge to beat the repetition of this greeting to death with her easel.

Boot gave her a hostile look. "I didn't realize Slytherins had time for artwork. Don't you spend all of your leisure time plotting in the dungeons?"

Owen and Ellie both gasped, eyes wide. Su Li frowned, but remained silent.

Pansy blinked, surprised at the blatant antagonism. Unless they happened to be one of Draco's cast-offs, then Ravenclaws weren't usually the first to light the torches or toss the pitchforks.

But before she could collect herself, Thomas had already jumped to her defense. "Leave it, Terry," he said angrily.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Boot snapped back. Thomas scowled, and they both appeared to be communicating through angry looks.

Well, they weren't the only ones who were angry. She hadn't _asked_ to be here. In fact, she had practically been coerced!

Defenses firmly up and temper in place, Pansy stood up and folded her arms across her chest. "No, it's all right, Thomas," she said briskly. "It's clear that Boot has something that he'd like to get off his chest." She fixed him with an icy stare. "Well?"

Boot shook his head disbelievingly, as if he couldn't believe his poor luck at having to deal with this. Pansy's fury flared underneath her skin.

"You know, my father works for the Ministry," he said, meeting her stare defiantly.

"Good for you and your father," Pansy said with a raised eyebrow, unsure about his point.

"He was good friends with William Vestry," Boot continued, his dark eyes flashing. "Moira used to invite my mother over for scones."

Pansy felt herself stiffen uncontrollably further. "Is that so?" she said through gritted teeth. "Is that social connection something you boast about often in casual conversation, Boot?"

He glowered at her. "Not often. It's just that I noticed that your Slytherin lot seemed mighty pleased the day their deaths were reported in the Daily Prophet."

Pansy felt a flash of fear at the blatant accusation, remembering her mother's letter. Bloody hell, they had been obvious, _again. Fuck_. They had gotten careless, and their parents were now in further jeopardy. The Ministry couldn't have any cause to give further investigation into their parents.

Pansy didn't even _know_ who had actually done the deed! Her father might not have even been there at the time of the murders! They couldn't prove that he was! What about Zabini's father? He was the suspicious, brooding type that aurors liked to haul in for questioning, wasn't he?

Ah, there was that lovely paranoia, again.

Boot didn't have anything on any of them. This was just more of the same: _Slytherins are evil, so they must be tickled pink whenever something goes wrong for us_. Pansy withheld a smirk. It was true, of course. Well, not the evil bit. Except maybe Theodore. And Draco. Oh, and Blaise.

Feeling secure again, Pansy nodded sympathetically. "What happened to those Ministry people was a tragedy," she said with mock sadness. "But perhaps if there had been more competence _within_ the Ministry, then it could have been _prevented_." She smiled sweetly. "Don't you think so, Boot?"

If looks could kill, then Boot's would have shot her dead _yesterday_.

"Would you guys knock it off?" Thomas said helplessly.

Boot shot a covert look at him before returning his gaze to Pansy. "So, you're back together with Malfoy?" he asked suddenly.

Thomas frowned, and Pansy sputtered. "Excuse me?"

"Malfoy. You. Back together. Do I have that right?"

"I don't know what the hell you're on about, Boot," she snapped. Why did people keep assuming that she was dating Draco?

"I thought you said she was smart," he said casually to Thomas.

Pansy was already going for her wand when Thomas grabbed her arm. He looked almost as angry as she felt. "I invited her here," he said through clenched teeth. "So, shut your fucking mouth, Terry."

Pansy looked at him, surprised. That was probably the first time she'd heard him curse.

Su stepped forward, then. "Yeah, Terry. This was supposed to be fun. You're killing the mood."

Boot ignored her, and gave a sardonic laugh. "Dean, you've got to be kidding me. I know you've got a thing for lost causes, but _this_ is pushing it."

Thomas blushed, and Pansy resisted the childish desire to stamp her foot angrily. That was quite enough. She turned blazing eyes on Thomas. "Well, this has been fun, Thomas," she said sarcastically. She grabbed her easel and headed towards the door. "Let's do this again _never_."

Boot scoffed and moved out of her way. "Don't let the door hit you."

Furious and humiliated, Pansy sped past him.

"Pansy, wait," Thomas said desperately, following her into the hallway.

"Fuck off, Thomas!" she spat, not slowing her stride.

"Pansy, _wait_! _Please_." He managed to grab her sleeve. "Don't go."

She whirled on him. "You know, your ambush could have been more effective if you'd just brought the executioner with you!"

His eyes widened. "You can't think that I knew he'd act like that!"

"Oh, no?" she said heatedly, advancing on him. "He's _your_ friend, isn't he?" She poked him harshly in the chest with her free hand. "You're telling me that you didn't know that he had a problem with me?"

"I _didn't_!"

"My arse!" she yelled.

"Will you stop jumping to conclusions?" he cried.

"There are no conclusions to jump to, Thomas! You practically _begged_ me to come to this stupid meeting, and it's pathetically obvious that no one wanted me there!"

Thomas was beginning to look more angry than upset. "I didn't _beg_ you to do anything. You came of your own volition."

"Hardly," she countered. "The only reason I even came was because Professor Snape forced me to!"

Thomas looked surprised, and then peeved. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And what the heck was with you in there, anyway? You kept dropping Snape's name and acting all—"

"Slytherin-like?" she said dangerously.

"Yes!" he cried. "Who the hell _was_ that?"

Pansy was starting to feel dizzy with all of the rancor in the air. "That was _me_, Thomas," she yelled in exasperation. "I _am_ a Slytherin. I like Snape, and I _don't_ like you. We were partnered against my will in a class, but that's all. You don't _know_ me. You never will. Take some advice from your idiot friend in there, and think about what the hell you're doing following me around and baiting me. Just leave me alone!" She stopped, and her breathing was ragged from frustration.

Thomas stared at her, the expression slowly draining from his face. He actually looked pale, if that was possible.

Silence pervaded the corridor, and for the first time since she'd exited the classroom, Pansy realized that she was shaking.

She clutched her easel to her and suppressed the budding sense of dread and regret that was welling up in her chest. She had meant every word, and there was no reason why she should feel guilty for the look on Thomas' face when she'd told him that she didn't like him.

Swallowing with visible difficulty, Thomas appeared to compose himself. He met her gaze with shielded eyes, and said in a tight voice, "Fine. In the future, I won't burden you with my _baiting_, and I definitely won't bother to _stalk_ you."

Pansy said nothing, so he continued. "But if Professor Snape asks, then I'll be sure to tell him that you showed up. I'll even do it after every meeting, since I wouldn't want you to be _forced_ into coming back when you obviously have somewhere you'd rather be. No sense in that, is there?"

With a last hurt look, he turned and stalked back to Professor Hector's room.

Pansy angrily wiped at her eyes and turned back in the direction of her common room. It was all for the best. She hadn't wanted to come to his club, anyway. She'd said as much, and it was always lovely getting exactly what you asked for.

Truly.

Swallowing down what was most definitely _not_ disappointment, Pansy turned a corridor and disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

**Author's Note Numero Dos**: A very huge and spectacular thanks to: 

Tainted13Innocence, Eveiveneg, **hpjsr**, karol, Junie, LunaCohen, **Blue Flying Flamingo**, Hermione Puckle, KeeperOfTheMoon, foamythesquirrelmistress, Private I, **Cindy T**, Willow23, Evilevergreen, w ii n k e r, Kellz, feltons-babe90099, **kaleidoscope0-0eyes**, Ella, NoTeS SiStEr, Drucilla Black, **cassandra07**,fanficfan4life, Xiao-Mao, Ranting Idiot, bluepharaoh, Peachy Papayas, **Missers**, padme fleur, **Book-Guardian**, my camel – is brown, Crys, Ranting Idiot, Lilybee2003, YouDon'tKnowWhoIAm, **The Beans Are Fried**, Gryfyndor Girl, **LaurenC**, Onawhim, Boy-Crazy Bookworm, Lour, **holly**,heart of chocolate, **weeping rose**, Amstar and all of the other lovely people who visited me on livejournal and and through E-mail for reviewing!


	5. The Art of Flattery and Masochism

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Special Note**: A very special thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review and support this story. Also, an enormous thank you to **sandundershoes** for the French translations!

**IMPORTANT NOTICE**: This chapter will be my last submission here. If you haven't read my profile, then know that I've left this site. I'm going to finish FE, but all further updates will be only on Schnoogle. There's a link to an update thread on my livejournal profile.

**Forgivable Expectations**

**Chapter Five: The Art of Flattery and Masochism**

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

The Sorting Hat in _Sorcerer's Stone_.

"_I suppose flattery hurts no one, that is, if he doesn't inhale_."

— Adlai Stevenson.

* * *

If there was one thing that Pansy Parkinson didn't like to indulge in, then it was regret.

It was a nasty thing, that regret. It left a bad taste in her mouth. Never solved a damn thing. It led to useless whining and discontent. She hated the stuff.

So, naturally, regret was the one thing that Pansy battled most with. However, she really did hate the stuff.

It wasn't so much a matter of conscience. She understood how things worked, and there were certain necessities to her life that weren't her fault. She hadn't asked to be born into her family. She hadn't asked to be enrolled in a boarding school that made no secret of certain… _predilections_ that made certain other… _circumventions_ essential to her routine. Pansy never wanted to grow up to this bitter resignation that she felt every time she looked into the faces of the people around her. She was just as much a victim of circumstance as anyone else in this day and age.

This was why, in the case of a certain Mr. Thomas, Pansy was most definitely not experiencing regret over the recent turn of events. No, she wasn't even feeling a _little_ bit bad, because there were facts of life that couldn't— _shouldn't_— be denied.

Fact one: Pansy was a Parkinson and a Slytherin. She hadn't chosen to be either, but they were both so much a part of her identity that neither persona could be taken away without taking large chunks of her away with it.

Fact two: Pansy had a life plan that included a future marriage into a distinguished Pureblood family. There was a role waiting for her after school finished. During the past few years, her mother had been training her for how to manage a large household like, say, Malfoy Manor for example. It wasn't as easy as it seemed.

Fact three: Pansy was hopelessly in love with Draco Malfoy. Everyone knew it. There was no helping it. She had been doomed from the first enforced play-date. She might even have blamed her parents for manipulating her into loving him, but there had been other play-dates with other kids, and they hadn't resulted in _this_. So, of course, this meant that she and Draco were meant to be. Soul mates and all that.

Three very important facts…

… And none of which coincided with Dean Thomas' smile. _None_. He didn't fit the pattern. He didn't fit the goal. Therefore, he had to be eliminated. Well, not _eliminated_ so much as _removed_ from the equation.

Technically, that had already been accomplished yesterday afternoon.

Pansy growled in annoyance and threw her quill away from her. Theodore raised an amused eyebrow at her, but she ignored him.

Sunday morning, and they were sitting together at a table in the common room, supposedly studying. In actuality, Theodore was discretely watching Belinda Oakley cross and uncross her legs across the room, and Pansy was obsessing again.

Yes, _again_. She was such a bloody masochist, but she couldn't seem to help herself. The argument between her and Thomas kept replaying itself over in her head.

_"In the future, I won't burden you with my baiting, and I definitely won't bother to stalk you."_

She _wasn't_ disappointed over the outcome of their argument, because she didn't have room in her life for baiting or stalking of any kind. Well, unless it was coming from a certain Malfoy boy. Thomas was just a distraction that she couldn't afford. She wasn't being selfish about it, either, because Thomas didn't need someone as… _difficult_ as Pansy in his life. He clearly had no idea what he was dealing with.

_"… I don't like you. We were partnered against my will in a class, but that's all. You don't know me. You never will."_

She _didn't_ like him. He was far too earnest and nice for her taste. Who needed _that_ in their lives? Pansy didn't. Gryffindor mannerisms made her ill. She would rid the planet of such duplicitous annoyances if she could. Boys like Thomas just led to headaches and confusion… Kind of like what Pansy was experiencing _now_, come to think of it…

Damn it.

_Memo to Self: Stop Thinking About Stupid Gryffindors._

_Further Memo to Self: Stop Giving Yourself Headaches Over Said Gryffindors._

_Even Further Memo to Self: Stop Writing Stupid Memos When Nott Is Trying To Read Over Your Shoulder._

She lifted her head to glare at Theodore, and he gave up with a shrug.

When he had returned his attention to Oakley's legs, Pansy nodded assertively to herself and grabbed desperately at her mother's missive from that morning, hoping for the distraction. It was an oddity to receive two in such a short span of time, and she had to admit that she was curious. She skipped over the usual trite pleasantries, but she paused when she came to something that caught her eye.

_"Your father and I have been in correspondence with our Italian cousins, the Paravias._

_Do you remember your cousin Julian? You met him once when you were young while we were vacationing in Naples. His mother, formerly of the Mancinis, is my cousin through my mother's side._

_He's only a few years older than you, and he hasn't managed to acquire himself a wife as of yet. Apparently, he's been doing very well for himself over there, working for the Italian ambassador."_

Pansy frowned. She had forgotten about any Italian cousins. Why was her mother suddenly corresponding with them, out of the blue? Why was she raving about a cousin that Pansy most assuredly did not remember? Her mother had never made an effort to push Pansy's marriage interests in any direction other than towards the Malfoys before.

She was starting to feel a foreboding sensation, but she read on.

_"I was thinking about inviting them to vacation with us over the holidays. Wouldn't that be fun?"_

Pansy made a face.

_"You'd have an opportunity to get to know people from another country, and it's good to keep family ties strong."_

Well, she couldn't deny that. Pansy skipped ahead a little further until a familiar name caught her eye.

_"You'll want to be congratulating your friend, Millicent. Her family is experiencing an ascension into social circles they couldn't have dreamed of before now. I'm thinking of hosting a tea so that the girls and I can get to know her mother better."_

Ascension? What could that possibly mean? What on earth did she have to congratulate Millicent Bulstrode about?

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Alyssa announced as she marched up to the table.

Pansy looked up at her, annoyed. "So, you decided to look in the most obvious place last?"

Theodore snorted, but Alyssa gave her an exasperated look. "Haven't you read your mail today?"

"What's it to you?" she said, instinctively tucking her letter away.

"It should mean _everything_ to _you_," Alyssa said as if Pansy were an idiot. She held up a sheet of parchment. "Read this. It's from my father."

Pansy took the missive with some surprise. Slytherins weren't exactly in the habit of sharing their personal correspondence, however dull it may be.

"Why did he send it to _you_?" Theodore asked with a hint of a pout. He leaned over Pansy's shoulder to read.

"Because you're a disappointment," Alyssa said sweetly.

"You're also breathing down my neck," Pansy said irritably. She tried to push him away, but he resisted her and whispered into her ear, "Like it?"

She made a disgusted noise and stood up so that she could read unmolested. The letter seemed like just a lot of tripe about relatives and Mrs. Nott. There was also something about the Bulstrodes—

Wait. Bulstrode? She went back and reread the bit about Millicent's family. What were the odds that both their parents wanted to talk about _that_ family?

"I don't understand," she admitted reluctantly. "Why should I care if your mother is inviting the Bulstrodes over for tea and hunting? Am I supposed to be jealous or something? Everyone knows that your father cheats with domesticated game."

"_Parkinson_," Alyssa snapped. "Don't be dense! Why would the Bulstrodes be invited over to our home?" She didn't bother denying the slight against her father's sportsmanship.

"Desperate for company?" Pansy quipped.

"No, but yours might be," Alyssa said darkly.

Pansy frowned at that. She scanned the letter again, still unsure of what she was supposed to be looking for. Blah, blah— Mrs. Nott was faking a cough to keep their aunt from visiting— Blah, blah— Bulstrodes getting invited to tea— Blah, blah— Something about an errant house elf— Blah, blah— Something else about the Bulstrodes— Geez, the Bulstrodes were getting more attention between these two letters than they ever—

Oh, _no_.

The bottom fell out of her stomach.

No, no, no, _no_.

"It was _Bulstrode_?" she shrieked, standing up so fast that she whacked her knees against the side of the table. _Fuck_.

"_Yes_!" Alyssa cried.

"What are you talking about?" Theodore demanded.

"There has to be some kind of mistake!" Pansy said desperately. "There's no way that… _No_!"

"Sorry, Pansy, but the ink's dry. The damage has been done."

Pansy couldn't believe that. It had to be a mistake. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen! Everyone knew the end to this story. Pansy marries Draco, Pansy moves into Malfoy Manor, Pansy proliferates a brood of gray-eyed, smirking children, and then Pansy completely overhauls the décor of Malfoy Manor the second Narcissa Malfoy kicks the bucket. Happily ever after, give or take a war or two.

She was going to be sick.

Theodore had snatched the letter from her so that he could read it for himself. Once he had finished, he threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, this is brilliant."

"For _you_, maybe," Alyssa said, smirking. Theodore grinned.

Pansy was too horrified to even contemplate what they were referring to.

She had to find Draco. He would fix this. Yes, he would explain about how this was all a complete mistake.

"Is Draco still at Quidditch practice?" she anxiously asked Theodore.

He shrugged. "Should be."

As soon as Pansy had turned her back, Theodore eagerly lunged for her mother's letter. However, as soon as his fingers touched it, the letter abruptly burst into flames. Theodore leapt back with a yelp.

"Don't touch my things, Nott!" Pansy yelled just before she disappeared behind the wall. She vaguely heard him curse at her before the wall slid back into place.

Pansy was just emerging from the top of the staircase leaving the dungeons when she saw Blaise half-hiding behind a statue. She raced up to her. "Blaise—"

Blaise held up a hand, silencing her. "Wait for it."

"_Zabini_—"

BANG!

The group of Gryffindor girls that Blaise had been observing abruptly began screaming as their own scarves began to strangle them.

Blaise laughed. "Idiots."

Pansy didn't have time for this. She furiously gripped Blaise's shoulders and shook her. "Zabini, it was Bulstrode! It was _Bulstrode_. We are _fucked_."

Blaise shoved her away, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "What the hell are you blabbering about, Parkinson?"

"The _promotion_, damn it! It went to Bulstrode's father."

Blaise went very still. "Bulstrode?"

Pansy nodded fervently. Was the girl slow?

"Fucking _Bulstrode_?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Pansy pressed her fingers against her eye sockets so that she saw stars. "_Yes_."

"But… He was _involved_? Since _when_? I didn't even— How did this _happen_?"

"I don't know," she said miserably. If Draco couldn't tell her different, then they could both kiss any chance to joining the Malfoy clan goodbye. Pansy knew that Blaise had been humoring the idea, the stupid bint.

"We are _fucked_," Blaise groaned.

"I _know_."

"Pansy!"

Her head whipped around to see Draco coming towards them. She could have cried with relief. "Draco—" she choked out.

"I know," he said shortly, holding up his own letter. He tucked it away again and then grabbed both Pansy and Blaise by their elbows. "Come on."

Blaise rebelled against being hauled around, and she yanked her arm out of his grip, but Pansy allowed herself to be pulled back down the staircase and into the dungeons. Blaise followed at a slower, more independent pace.

"Did Bulstrode's father really get it?" she asked breathlessly.

He spared her a sideways glance. "Yes," he said tightly.

Pansy felt what little hope she had left crumble. "Oh."

Draco lead her all the way back to the Slytherin common room. "Upstairs," he spat at Theodore and Alyssa. "Crabbe! Goyle!" he called across the room. They looked over in surprise at being called, and Draco pointed towards the staircase to the girls' dorm.

"What's going on?" Raquel asked, coming up behind them.

"Get your arse upstairs," he demanded without preamble. She looked scandalized.

Without waiting to see if his orders would be followed, Draco tugged Pansy up to her room. The part of Pansy that didn't feel completely devastated appreciated his aggressively assertive behavior, but she had no idea what he was up to. She collapsed into her desk chair and buried her face in her hands. She was ruined.

Unsurprisingly, their fellow Slytherins soon filtered into the room after them.

"Who do you think you are, Malfoy?" Raquel said angrily.

"Stop talking," he said calmly.

Theodore raised an eyebrow and asked, "You brought us up here to _not_ talk?"

"Think you can handle that?" he said dryly.

"So, we're going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Raquel said, dropping onto her bed.

"Oh, I'd say that the elephant _isn't_ in the room yet," Theodore said, smirking.

"Just wait," Draco snapped.

Blaise was pacing erratically. Pansy looked at her friend and remembered something she had said:

"_He doesn't belong to you, you know."_

No, and now he never would. She had been so arrogant as to believe that she would benefit from this. Pansy felt a rush of resentment towards her father. This was his fault. He had one little job to do, and he screwed it all up. He screwed up his daughter's life as well as his own chance for advancement. He had failed her. He was _useless_.

The sound of the door opening made them all turn. Draco grabbed Pansy's arm and hoisted her onto her feet, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

Millicent entered the room quietly. Her nose was buried in a book, and she made it two feet into the room before she saw them. She froze when she realized that they were all looking at her.

"Close the door, Millicent," Draco ordered.

She looked reluctant to do so, but she did as she was told.

"You've been holding out on us, Bulstrode," Blaise said menacingly.

Millicent looked between them, gauging their expressions. "I haven't—"

"How long have you known?" Blaise interrupted.

Millicent grimaced. "About the promotion?" she said timidly.

"Got it in one," Raquel said with a smirk. She was bouncing her foot and looking about excitedly as if she were at a spectator match.

Millicent gave Pansy a pleading look, but it was met with a stony glare. She was feeling far from charitable. It was only Draco's hand on her shoulder that kept her from exploding out with a stream of aimless curses and hexes… or _tears_ if she _really_ wanted to give her emotions free reign.

She frowned when Draco abruptly took a diplomatic step forward. "Millicent, we wanted to congratulate you," he said, smiling. "This will be good for your family."

Millicent blinked blankly at him, clearly stunned at the pleasantry.

Well, it was nothing compared to Pansy's shock. She was half-certain that her mouth was hanging open unattractively, but she couldn't be bothered to right herself.

Draco actually seemed… _sincere_. Of course this promotion would be good for Millicent's family! But… What the hell was Draco doing sounding _sincere_?

"Yeah, congrats," Theodore contributed. He gave Pansy a smoldering look and patted Millicent on the shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle made equally supportive noises.

Pansy didn't know what she was expecting from her housemates but this wasn't it. She felt stunned and hurt. Didn't they realize that her life was over? Millicent didn't need this promotion. She was going to marry someone from Durmstrang, wasn't she?

This didn't even make _sense_. How was this situation fair? Millicent's parents couldn't spend half as much time sucking up to the Malfoys as hers did. _Millicent_ didn't grow up being shoved upon them for play dates with their son. She didn't have to bravely curtsy to an intimidating Lucius Malfoy on a regular basis, or compliment his wife on things she knew absolutely nothing about, _or_, worst of all, face the knowing expression on Narcissa's face after the attempt.

Narcissa _bloody_ Malfoy. _Millicent's_ mother couldn't possibly have tried so desperately to get into that woman's good graces. Pansy's mother had done everything short of drawing _blood_ to achieve it. What had Mrs. Bulstrode done?

What had _Millicent_ done? Pansy had _reinvented_ the term sycophantic. Thanks to her mother, she knew everything from Narcissa's favorite color to her preferred perfume to the bloody _cake_ she ordered at her favorite tearoom. She sent carefully selected birthday and Christmas presents every year. She dressed to perfection whenever she visited. _Millicent_ didn't learn bloody _French_ for her son. Hours and hours of _drilling_…

She winced as her head began to throb. _Fuck_. Did they really think that she was just going to let Millicent _usurp_ her like this? After all of the work and effort she had put in?

Pansy caught herself, horrified at the dark images that had instantly swirled in her mind. This was _Millicent_.

_Threat_, her mind whispered. No, _not_ a threat. Her roommate. Technically her friend.

"Pansy?"

She realized that they were waiting for some kind of verbal reaction from her. _Like dogs waiting for a cue_, she thought bitterly. _Well, sic her_!

She drew up all of her composure and gave Millicent a smirk that meant to be a smile. "Congratulations," she said flatly.

Draco gave her a pleased smile, but Millicent was right to look skeptical.

Blaise seemed disappointed at the lack of open hostility that she no doubt craved to display herself. She gave Millicent a dark look. "Bravo, Bulstrode. Maybe now you won't have to search foreign countries for someone who's willing to shag you."

"They couldn't afford the travel fees _and_ the dowry anyway," Pansy said sullenly, moving to stand beside Blaise.

She got a few raised eyebrows at that. Millicent looked hurt, but the dark anger boiling underneath Pansy's skin blocked out any sympathy she might have felt for her. She and Blaise shared a knowing look, comrades in bitterness and disappointment.

"Oh, don't look like that," Draco interjected smoothly, putting the hand that had just been on Pansy's onto Millicent's shoulder. He gave Pansy and Blaise an amused look. "No worries, Millicent. It's just sour grapes."

Pansy clenched her mouth shut to avoid spewing something acidic at him. The sight of his hand on Millicent's shoulder planted something cold in the heat of her chest. It was clearly unnerving Millicent, too. She was looking at his hand like it was a snake waiting to strike.

Her mouth curled cruelly. Millicent couldn't handle Draco. No, Millicent wouldn't know how to handle most of the challenges of being a Malfoy-in-training. She could barely handle the attentions of her roommates as they were. Elevation in standing only meant elevation in acrimony. There would be no escape from the venom slinging that was inevitably going to occur. Millicent was going to have her work cut out for her.

Pansy would make sure of that.

* * *

The room was quiet except for the sound of her feet slapping against the floor.

Pansy paced the empty classroom with a fierce determination. She had banished all of the desks to the side of the room several minutes ago, so she had nothing to do but pace. She didn't pause until she heard the door jostle.

Draco sidled into the room. "I got your note," he said.

Pansy tossed him the sword without preamble.

Draco paused to examine the sword, but Pansy was already swinging. She cut the sword directly at his head, and she had the acute pleasure of seeing Draco's eyes widen in unanticipated fear before he could bring up his sword to block her.

She felt a surge of primal joy at the close call, and she brought the sword down again in another near miss. Draco's frustration was plain, and he couldn't seem to gain himself some advantageous distance between himself and Pansy, because whenever he tried to move, she was right there again with a brutal parry. She was half-gone with blood lust, so she didn't even hear him telling her to back off.

"Pansy! Stop— Fuck, _stop_!"

This was it. She could feel it. This was the time that she would actually beat Draco. He'd promised to "relinquish all" to her once she'd finally beaten him, and she was bloody well going to _collect_, damn it.

Apparently fed up, Draco finally just drew up his leg and gave her a hard, downward kick to her knee. Pansy cried out in pain and fell to the floor. Her sword fell to the floor and Draco swooped down to catch it up.

"I'm not doing this with you," he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Not when you're like this."

"Not when I'm _angry_?" she said incredulously as she pulled herself to her feet. "Do you honestly think I'm just going to be cool as a cucumber when I'm dueling for real?"

"It felt pretty real when you swung that sword at me just now," he said, giving her an accusing look.

"Then let's use wands," she said, her heart pounding. "You never want to duel with wands."

"That's because I could wipe the floor with you," he said, setting the swords onto the floor.

"So _teach_ me," she insisted.

Draco sighed. "Not when you're like this, Pans."

Her frustration boiled over and snapped. She would make him take her seriously. She marched over to where her things were lying on one of the desks and pulled her wand from her robes pocket. She went to hex him, but Draco anticipated her. He disarmed her with pathetic ease, and her wand went sailing over her head.

"Watch yourself," he snapped. He was looking considerably less patient now. Pansy took some satisfaction from that. She went to retrieve her wand, but Draco stepped forward and caught her arm. "If you pick up that wand, then I'm not responsible for what I'll have to do," he warned.

Pansy shrugged. "Okay." She brought her foot down as hard as she could onto his foot and jumped back as Draco hissed in pain. "Were you responsible for _that_?" she yelled.

Draco leapt forward with unanticipated speed before Pansy could think to move away. He lifted and sprung her around so that her back collided harshly with the wall. She let out a whoosh of air, but still managed to glare at Draco as he cried, "Enough with the _kicking_!"

"Let go!" she shrieked. "_Je te tuerai_!"

"Oh, really?" he sneered. "You're going to kill me, Parkinson?"

Pansy twisted and turned, desperate to be released so that she could liberate this anger and frustration that was boiling her alive from the inside. Draco was a rock, and he refused to give her any room to retaliate. He watched her with shrouded eyes as she slowly burned herself out. When her arms finally slackened in his grip, he allowed his hold to slacken.

"Frankly, Parkinson, your behavior as of late has bordered on embarrassing. You're an adult, so _act_ like it."

"Fuck you!" she spat. Her behavior towards him didn't matter anymore, and he bloody well _knew_ it didn't.

"Tempting," he scoffed. "But you're going to calm down now."

"I _am_ calm," she said flatly. "Let go."

He looked far from convinced. "If I let go, are you going to try to hurt me?"

"No," she said truthfully. "I'm done."

"Right." Draco slowly backed off and away from her. He moved to the opposite side of the room and leaned against a desk. Now that he was out of harm's way, he could afford to look amused.

"Are you going to tell me what your problem is?" he asked.

Pansy sagged against the wall. "Draco, it's over," she muttered. "We're not getting married."

He shrugged. "So, what's over? You're still you, and I'm still me. We're still _us_, Pansy, married or not."

Pansy had to grit her teeth against the second wave of frustration and despondency that threatened to tear her apart. Draco didn't understand. He didn't care. Her life was over and he didn't care. Hell, why should he? He was going to marry some beauty out of Beauxbatons or _Blaise_, and he would never look back.

"I'm going to have to marry my cousin, Julian, and move to Italy," she said miserably. "I don't even speak Italian." All those years were wasted on _French_.

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Italy?"

"Yeah, he's an ambassador or something," she said, her voice breaking a little before she could help it.

Draco made a face. "Why him?"

Pansy shook her head and turned away so that he wouldn't see her inner struggle. "He's my best prospect." It hurt her to say it, but it was the truth.

"Your best prospect is _not_ in Italy," Draco snarled from a surprisingly close proximity behind her.

"Well, it's not _here_!" she cried.

Draco gently tugged her around to face him. He rubbed her arms reassuringly. "You can't go to Italy. Who would keep on my case and annoy me into good behavior?"

"Your _wife_," she snapped, pulling away from him. "And you've never listened to me _or_ exhibited any good behavior since the day I met you, Draco Malfoy."

"Pansy!" he said with exasperation. "There's nothing I can do, okay? Bulstrode was a long shot that pulled ahead at the last minute. What do you want from me?"

She _wanted_ him to show at least _half_ of the helpless anger that had been eating her alive for the past few hours. She had tried to put her feelings onto a canvas, but she hadn't had the patience, and the endeavor had amounted to nothing more than a shredded canvas and splattered pains down the front of her robes.

"So, that's it? You'll marry Bulstrode, and that's the end?"

Draco grimaced. "Pansy, please. I've just eaten. I'd sooner cut it off than marry her."

Pansy couldn't even afford to feel relieved, because it would just be someone else if it wasn't Bulstrode.

She was just so _angry_, and there was no outlet since Draco wouldn't physically fight her. He, on the other hand, seemed hardly affected at all. Didn't it matter to him that they would never get married? Was this the answer to the long-held, insecure question of what Draco really felt for her behind all of those kisses and touches and stupid innuendo? _Nothing_? Or, worse, _complacency_? Everyone had assumed they would be married someday. Had Draco just accepted it and behaved accordingly?

These were all veryimportant questions that she probably should have but couldn't bring herself to ask him.

"You didn't stand up for me," she said aloud. "You practically slapped me in the face today when you put your hand on Millicent's shoulder."

Draco sighed. "Pansy, I shouldn't have to explain to you that alliances are important in our lives. It's important in our house and in our future… _careers_."

"So, sod all when it comes to _me_, right?" she said. She shook her head with a bitter smile on her face. "Well, fuck you, too, Draco Malfoy."

"Stop being so melodramatic," he said irritably. "This isn't the end of the world."

She choked on a humorless laugh. No, hardly the end of _his_ world. That probably answered her self-defeating questions.

Draco lightly touched her chin and made her look at him. "Nothing's over. You don't know what could come up. There's still hope."

She allowed him to pull her into a hug, and she buried her face in his neck. Draco lightly combed his fingers through her hair in a comforting manner, and she struggled to keep herself together.

"It's you and me, Pans," he whispered. "Never doubt that, okay?"

Pansy loved him, but she didn't believe him.

* * *

Oddly enough, there were no noticeable changes in Pansy's day-to-day routine.

Not yet, anyway.

She wouldn't admit it, but part of her had expected to be immediately abandoned if her father got passed by again. She realized now that her expectation had been irrational. Alyssa's father had a higher rank, and it didn't elevate _her_ above Pansy. At least, she hadn't managed to successfully use the situation to her advantage yet. Maybe some people just weren't meant for leadership.

Besides, she was still Pansy Parkinson. She was still a 7th year, pureblooded Slytherin. Her father was still a Death Eater, if something of an unimpressive one.

Now, if _Blaise's_ father had been promoted, _then_ there would have been immediate consequences for her. The balance of power would have shifted in painfully obvious ways. Raquel and Alyssa weren't going to win any prizes for loyalty, and Pansy wouldn't have expected anything else. They weren't _Gryffindors_, and Millicent's leanings hardly _mattered_…

_Then_. Or now. It was all very confusing, which would explain why she was sitting in her Herbology class, contemplating her own house politics.

"Will you pass me the mooncalf dung?" Pansy asked absently.

Thomas gave her a resentful look, but he passed it over. They were repotting their temula in relative silence, but occasionally, one of them required something from the other's side of the table. Pansy was too preoccupied to remember that she was angry with him, but Thomas didn't seem to have the same distractions.

"Can I have the measuring cup?" she asked as she jotted down some notes.

He slammed it down next to her hand, and she calmly picked it up and said, "Thanks."

Thomas' jaw clenched like he was trying to hold back some serious rancor. Her lack of reaction seemed to be nettling him worse than if she had actually spit in his eye.

"Are you done with those grubs?" she asked him.

"Ages ago," he said petulantly, shoving their container over to her. "If you weren't taking forever with that manure, then we could already be done." Several students had already vacated the greenhouse, and they were one of the last groups.

Pansy shrugged and grabbed up a handful of dirt and dung so that she could sprinkle in a few grubs. She covered them over again and sighed in satisfaction. The temula echoed her sentiment with a pleased noise.

"All right, now we're done. See you on Wednesday, Thomas," she said, leaving him to shelve their pot while she moved over to the glove bin.

She looked up in surprise when she realized that Thomas had followed her. "What? Is putting the pot on the shelf too hard for you?"

"Why are you acting like nothing happened?" he asked in an angry whisper.

Pansy frowned as she focused on tugging off her gloves. "I'm sorry, but did you _want_ us to fail?"

Thomas made an exasperated noise. "Aren't you going to _apologize_?"

Pansy stared at him incredulously. "Apologize for _what_ exactly?"

His mouth fell open in indignation. "Are you kidding me?"

"Apparently," she snapped, dropping her gloves into the bin. She wasn't surprised when he followed her over to the sink, but she said in a voice that was snide even for her, "As much fun as your Gryffindor tenacity is, I thought that you were going to quit the stalker business."

"I'm not _stalking_ you, Parkinson!"

Pansy rounded on him and hissed, "Prove it by buggering off!"

She marched back over to their table long enough to retrieve her bag, and then she left the greenhouse. Pansy had made it all the way to the castle by the time Thomas caught back up with her.

"Parkinson!" he yelled as he jogged up the hill after her.

"_What_?" she cried, pausing in her footfall. "What else is there to say? I'm not coming back to your stupid club!"

"I don't _care_ if you come to Art Club!"

"Then what could you possibly _want_ from me, Thomas?"

Thomas sighed, and Pansy could see the anger visibly drain from him at her words. She felt a flicker of fear at its departure. She could handle an angry Gryffindor with familiar ease, but an emotional one seemed enough to send her scurrying.

"I just… want to talk to you," he said lamely.

She snorted. "Right."

"No, I _do_," he said.

"We have nothing else to say," she said stubbornly.

He sighed again. "Look, will you just tell me something?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "It depends."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "You can lose the paranoia, Pansy. I'm not going to ask for the password into your common room."

"Good, because I'd never give it to you." She couldn't even imagine Dean Thomas standing in the midst of the Slytherin den. The thought made her glance around nervously as she was suddenly aware of the fact that she was standing in plain sight, conversing with a Gryffindor and without a single wand pointed at anyone's throat.

He frowned. "No, I don't suppose you would."

Pansy fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, what is it?"

Thomas was still staring at her with a confusing, almost _sad_ look that made her want to hex him if only to change his expression. "Why were you _acting_ like that?" he asked.

Pansy groaned and grabbed his elbow. She steered him over so that they were at least standing in the shadow of the castle. "Like _what_?"

"Like you did at Art Club."

"Thomas, your friend was _badgering_ me. What did you expect?"

"I'm sorry about Terry, but you weren't helping! You made it sound as if…" He trailed off, looking frustrated.

"What?" she challenged, unable to help herself. "As if _what_?"

"You made it seem like he was _right_," he said helplessly.

He was looking at her like he wanted her to deny it, and Pansy felt a tightening in her throat. Oh, boy.

Turning away from him, she took a moment to compose herself. She smoothed her hair and pretended to contemplate the scenery so that she could consider what there was to say. Some things were just too dangerous to confirm, but…

Pansy looked at him over her shoulder. "What if it were true?" she said quietly.

Thomas' mouth pinched, and the sudden fire in his eyes suggested anger. "That you were happy about those deaths?" he said tensely.

"Yes."

"If you told me that, then I'd call you a liar," he said coldly.

Pansy frowned. "Thomas—"

"You can call me _Dean_," he snapped.

"Well, when you put it so nicely," she said incredulously, putting her hands on her hips.

"I mean, who do you think that you're fooling with this attitude?" he continued. "Is this some kind of show for _my_ benefit? If it is, then I'm not buying it!" His hands were clenching and unclenching, and Pansy suddenly had the irrational urge to see how far she could push him until he finally snapped from frustration and hit her.

"Who's fooling?" she murmured with an imitation of Draco's smirk as she edged closer to him. If good old-fashioned reason wasn't going to cut it, then there was always intimidation.

"_Stop_ that!" he cried, backing away from her. "You're trying to provoke me!"

_Yes_. Pansy pursued him, but she lost the smirk. "Look, Thomas," she said firmly. "The only way you and I are going to survive this partner thing is if you let go of these delusions you've obviously created about me. And you need to stop making this so… _personal_, okay?"

Thomas stopped backing away and simply stared at her, looking genuinely confused. "How is this not personal between us?"

Pansy felt the flush crawl up her neck. "It's _not_. You and I never would have even spoken if it weren't for—"

"The partner thing," he concluded bitterly.

"_Yes_."

"_No_. Pansy, we see each other every day—"

"So what? We've never spoken—"

"We've spoken!"

"'_Excuse me, you're standing on my foot_,' or '_Shove off, Malfoy, and take your girlfriend with you'_ don't count."

Thomas made a strangled noise. "Why does every step forward with you result in three steps backward?"

Pansy couldn't help feeling some amusement at his blatant frustration. "What step forward are you thinking of exactly?"

He must have caught the amusement in her eyes, because his expression immediately softened. "That day out in the gardens."

"You mean right before you ruined everything by insulting my favorite teacher?"

"Exactly! And then the night on the Quidditch pitch…"

"I broke your nose!"

"Yes! Then, you actually came to the Art Club meeting, but you freaked out and somehow managed to insult everyone there. See? The Snape indignation, the nose, and the freak-out equal three steps backward! And if each step backward is equal to three, then it's actually _nine_ steps backward! _Damn_, Parkinson!"

_But three steps forward_, she was tempted to add, but that would only have encouraged him.

Pansy shook her head and smirked wryly. "So, you've proven that dealing with me is exhausting. Now, tell me why you're bothering," she said. "What's with the sudden interest? This isn't part of some Gryffindor outreach program, is it?"

Dean smiled and gave her such an open, sincere look that she felt a lump rise in her throat, and she had to look away before she read too much. He couldn't realize what he was doing in revealing so much to her.

"You _know_ what this is about," he said softly. "You've felt—"

"_What_ have I felt?" she pushed, feeling slivers of fear crawl up her back.

"This," he said, indicating between them.

"No!" she snapped impatiently, making him blink in surprise. "You have to be more specific than that." He needed to know exactly what he was flirting with here. It was too important to just brush aside. He wasn't going to understand why this couldn't happen.

Dean flushed a little, but he still surprised her by lightly brushing his fingers against hers before taking her hand in his. Her skin tingled all the way up to her elbow in response. Pansy's breathing sped up as her heart began to pound faster. She had spent the whole day walking around in a kind of blank, empty stupor, but the tingling felt like an awakening. What was he doing to her?

However, his boldness in the face of humiliation savagely reminded her that he was a Gryffindor for a reason.

Pansy shuddered and quickly searched her brain for those reasons why this could never happen. What were they again? There were so many… Oh. Right.

Slytherins didn't associate with Gryffindors. Purebloods— _respectable_ Purebloods— didn't associate with Muggleborns. Pansy was both. _Dean_ was both.

Still holding her hand, Dean stepped up close to her. Pansy had to crane her neck back so that she could still see his face. For whatever reason, she didn't let go of his hand.

"You're bloody tall," she said weakly.

Dean laughed and bent his head so that his breath tickled her ear as he said, "I really like you."

No, no, no. This couldn't happen. She squeezed her eyes shut against the fluttering in her chest. "Thomas…" she said weakly. This needed to stop before…

"It's _Dean_," he said in a soft voice that was probably meant to keep her from running away. Reassure the beast before stabbing it. "And I also think that you might like me, too, Pansy Parkinson."

Pansy wished that she could deny it, because Dean Thomas would never own a large manor. He had never stood out as an outstanding student before, and the path of a starving artist was centuries away from acceptable. Most importantly, Dean wasn't _Draco_. No one else ever could be.

But…

She was just so tired of it all. The shock of the promotion, the stress over Draco, the loss of her dream, the denial over _this_… It was exhausting.

"_Dean_," she said, giving in to the part of her that just really liked his name. "What exactly are you—"

Thomas covered her mouth with his hand. "Do you always have to over-analyze everything?"

Apparently immune to logic, Pansy parted her lips a little, tempted to take his fingers into her mouth. She wondered if he wanted her to. Oh, this was ridiculous.

"Haven't you ever just given in to something because it felt _good_?"

That snagged her attention as memories of Draco abruptly flooded her mind. Every weak moment with him had its preceding desire to _just give in_ to something bigger than herself— to feel _everything_ those weak moments promised.

Pansy was a masochist, plain and simple, which explained why she was putting a hand on Dean's hip and drawing him closer. She let go of his hand and gripped his wrist so that she could remove it from her mouth without actually releasing it from her hold.

"If you're going to talk like a hedonist, then you better be prepared for the consequences," she told him.

He flushed again and dropped his eyes to where their bodies were tentatively touching. "I'm not a hedonist. I just want…"

_You_.

Pansy suddenly felt extremely giddy. This situation was rapidly spinning out of control, and she didn't know if she wanted it to stop. She could feel the heat of Thomas' eyes and the weight of his body as it lightly pressed against her, and her brain was swiftly turning to mush as a result.

"What are we doing?" she whispered.

His smile was reckless. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

_Yes_. It most definitely did. "No," she said.

Dean cupped her face. "Good."

"Yeah."

He kissed her.

Pansy made a little noise in the back of her throat and gripped Dean's lapels. The full lips that she had so admired were soft and firm above hers. She pressed and sucked at them with a fervency that made him groan.

There wasn't enough contact, so Pansy released his lapels and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Dean released her face and enfolded her into an embrace. His arms felt so strong, and she was tired enough to allow her body to sag against him. He held her up, and his kisses were gentle and probing, like he was trying to slowly absorb her.

Pansy's natural instinct was to press harder into him until they melded, but she let him guide her into a more leisurely pace after she realized that he was _learning_ her. Every tilt of her head and every sound that she made was being taken in and held somewhere in his memory. She could tell by the way that his hands traced up and down her spine and along her sides. She shivered under his pleasant ministrations. She had been feeling so lost, and there was something to be said for being found. It had never been like this before. Draco never—

Oh. She went frigid in his arms. _Oh_.

Dean was still kissing her. He didn't realize that they were no longer alone. The faces of everyone Pansy had ever known were suddenly swirling around them, staring accusingly. Her housemates were there. Professor Snape. Other Slytherin alumni she had been introduced to. Her _parents_ were there, with her father in the Death Eater garb that Pansy had once found while she was snooping through his things. Christ! _Death… Eater…_ _garb_. What was she _doing_?

With a strangled sound, Pansy pushed him away. She jumped back as if burned. Dean stared at her with hazy, dilated eyes. "Pansy?" he choked out in a husky voice.

"Fuck," she whispered, backing away from him. She wiped at her mouth with a trembling hand.

Dean smiled at her, and Pansy suddenly felt nauseous. "Stop that," she snapped. Stop bloody _smiling_ like this could possibly be a good thing.

The smile wilted off of his face, and he looked confused. "Stop _what_?"

"_That_!"

Pansy couldn't _afford_ this right now, not with the constant power struggles being at their height. No matter how it may appear from the outside, she had already suffered a fall from the loss of promotion. She could never look Draco in the eye and challenge his ideas about purity, especially if everything she said was tainted by the taste of Dean in her mouth. Draco wouldn't understand. He'd throw everything back in her face and turn his back on her. She'd die. Without Draco, there was no _her_. Dean couldn't fill in the gaps. He wouldn't even know where to begin.

Dean took a cautious step towards her. "Pansy? Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "This was a mistake."

"I don't believe that," he said eagerly.

He was delusional. She had just risked his life, and he didn't even know it.

"I have to go," she said, backing further away.

"Please don't," he said, taking a step after her. "Pansy!"

"I'm sorry," she said.

Pansy turned and ran before she could see the disappointed look on his face.

* * *

It had been exactly three hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifty-nine seconds since Dean Thomas had kissed Pansy Parkinson.

It had been exactly two hours, fifteen minutes, and twenty-three seconds since she had shakily fallen into a seat in the darkest corner of the library. The place must be growing on her. Either that or she just couldn't bear the thought of looking any of her housemates in the eye yet. Wandering back and forth in front of Snape's office hadn't helped.

She had a book open in front of her, but it was only a cover for her vacant staring. Since sitting down, Pansy had been trying to will herself into a state of post-traumatic shock. She just wanted to feel blank and separated from herself, because no matter what she tried to tell herself, denial wasn't as easy as it seemed.

She tried anyway, though, because it _must_ have been someone _else_ that had kissed Dean Thomas. Yes, because surely _Pansy_ wouldn't have risked social ostracism for a _Gryffindor_. Nope. Nuh-uh. She wasn't _that_ stupid… Usually.

Pansy groaned and buried her face in her hands. How did everything become so messed up?

"Watch it, Malfoy!"

Pansy's head shot up.

The speaker was a girl who was gathering up her books from the floor and glaring at Draco as he marched straight for Pansy with a determined stride. Her stomach dropped into her shoes. She was trapped in the corner, and it was too late to duck beneath the table. All she could do was sit there and wait for him. It was an awful feeling.

Draco slid into the seat next to her without any greeting. Pansy felt her heart give a guilty lurch, and she bowed her head over her parchment so that he wouldn't be able to see the blush spread across her face. She felt like Dean must have left some physical signs of having been there on her skin. The experience had been too intense and forbidden to not leave a mark of some kind.

When he still hadn't spoken after several seconds, Pansy finally lifted her head and gave him a quizzical look.

Realized that he had her attention, Draco scooted his chair closer to hers. She squirmed uncomfortably as he silently regarded her with a serious expression on his face. Pansy avoided meeting his gaze for as long as she could, but it was like trying to ignore the shrieking banshee in the room.

She gnawed at her lower lip for a moment before giving in. "What is it?"

Draco slammed his hand over her book, making her jump. "Look at me."

Pansy was startled enough to obey the request, and she immediately wished that she hadn't. Draco was positively brimming with contained energy. She couldn't tell whether it was anger, fear, or excitement that was emanating from him, but the power behind the emotion put her on edge for some reason.

He was so close that his eyes blocked out everything else, and she abruptly felt consumed by something unidentified. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words froze in her throat. Pansy wanted to back away, but she felt snagged in by him. She swallowed. What was going on?

Draco gripped her arm that was lying on the table, and she wasn't sure if he was purposely trying to hurt her or if his grasp was just unconsciously rough. "I've been looking everywhere for you," he said in a hushed, accusing tone.

Pansy felt the blush rising again before she could do anything to prevent it. She fruitlessly attempted to pull out of his hold. "I'm right here," she managed nervously. "Let go."

Draco ignored her. His fingers actually tightened their grip, and she felt an embarrassing thrill shoot through her body. It was quickly followed by a wave of self-loathing. Here was the root of the answer to the question that everyone seemed to ask: why Draco Malfoy? No one could ever know about this, because she could only _hope_ that her self-destructing masochism wouldn't spread into the bedroom. She was screwed up enough without adding that to her already twisted psyche.

"_Now_," she said urgently, trying to twist out of his grip.

"Shut up and get that look off of your face," he suddenly snapped. The energy around him practically crackled.

Too shocked to react otherwise, Pansy shut her mouth. What the hell was going on? Since when did _she_ get treated like vermin? Was Draco angry with her? He was certainly acting like he was. Actually, he was acting like he knew about—

Pansy suddenly froze in guilty terror.

He knew. Somehow, he'd found out. Dean must have told someone. Or Blaise had finally gotten her edge. Or Draco was there for some reason, and he saw for himself. Her avoidance had been for nothing. He _knew_. She couldn't take it back.

"Draco?" she said anxiously. _Oh, please don't hate me. I didn't mean to._

His stare was flat, but she could feel him reigning in the anger. His hold finally loosened on her arm, but the longer he was silent, the more upset she became. He was so blank, and she wanted to cry.

"Draco, I didn't—"

"Pansy, calm down," he interrupted, abruptly the picture of unruffled stoicism. His eyes flicked to the side, and then he released her arm entirely. Sitting back, Draco gave her a cold smile. "You look a fright."

She couldn't calm down, not after being the recipient of _that_ look. "But I…"

"I just need your full attention," he explained. "There's no reason to panic. Okay?"

Pansy didn't know what else to do, so she nodded. Draco seemed satisfied, and he leaned in closer again. She shivered when he brought his hand up to push back a lock of her hair, subsequently brushing his fingers across her cheek.

"I got a letter from my father today," he said conversationally.

"You did?" she said weakly. Was Draco going to tell his father about Dean? It would be the simplest way of obliterating any chance they may ever have salvaged of being together. Had she already done that herself?

Draco made an affirmative noise. "You'll never guess what the letter said."

"From your father?" Pansy's world was spinning, and she was so confused by this conversation. What was he getting at? What did a letter from his father have to do with her and Dean? Unless… Well, unless Draco _didn't_ know about Dean.

_Oh_. Her relief was so immense and immediate that she began to shake. He wasn't here to disown her. He wanted to talk about his oh-so-precious _father_. He hadn't even mentioned Dean. _Draco didn't know_. She had merely jumped to paranoid conclusions as always. Pansy choked down a hysterical laugh. Everything was _fine_.

"That's right," he said as he cupped the side of her jaw with his palm. To her surprise, he leaned even further into her personal space to trail up the opposite side of her face with the soft brush of his lips. Pansy's eyes slid shut with a sharp gasp of air, and she had to clutch her own knee due to the intensity of her relief. There was no way that Draco would behave like this with her if he knew. No, he would have probably hexed her right in front of the entire library.

His mouth stopped at her ear. ""_Il s'est passé enfin_," he whispered. _It's finally happened. _

"What?" she moaned, trying to turn her face into a kiss. She wasn't really paying attention anymore. The unintentional reassurance of Draco's mouth on her skin was sending sparks through her brain.

She made a disappointed noise when he avoided her mouth and kept his lips pressed to her ear. "_Nous devons avoir une autre rendezvous_." _We need to have another meeting_.

Pansy was only slowly coming back to herself as she gradually calmed down, but her eyes flew open at that. Meeting? What was he talking about?

"_Il faut que tu amène les filles et nous retrouve dans La Forêt Interdite, exactement trois heures après le couvre-feu ce soir_." _I need you to gather the girls and meet us at the edge of the Forbidden Forest exactly three hours after curfew tonight._

"Why?" she asked, finally comprehending that his proximity was merely a means of achieving some privacy. The realization brought sharp disappointment in to nest with the otherwise sweet relief. She tried to pull back from him, but Draco quickly caught the side of her face to keep her from moving away.

"_Ne bouge pas_!" he hissed. _Don't move_! _"__On nous regarde__Aie l'air comme si je chuchote quelque chose romantique_." _Someone is watching us. Act like I'm whispering something romantic._

Pansy automatically tensed at the thought of being watched, but she fell into the ploy easily enough despite the bitterness that clawed at her chest. So, he wanted to put on an act. She could do that. At least he wasn't upset with her.

Now very much in control of herself, she conjured up a false smile and muttered from the corner of her mouth, "This is fucking great, Malfoy. Everyone already thinks that we're dating, and now you pull this."

She felt the snort against her cheek. "Pansy, it hardly matters what people think you and I get up to as long as it's far enough from the truth," he said in English.

It hardly matters to _you_, she thought angrily.

She turned sideways in her chair so that their foreheads rested together, still giving the imitation of intimacy but with the advantage of being able to see his face. "Who's watching us, and why do I care?" she asked.

Draco feigned a smile of his own that would have melted a stone if the stone weren't smart enough to recognize it for a farce. Pansy's traitor heart still gave a twinge. "_Je ne sais pas son nom_," he said in a honeyed tone. _I don't know his name_. "No— Don't look!"

Too late. Pansy was already turning her head to catch a glimpse of their observer. Draco quickly covered the movement by ducking his face into the curve of her neck, as if she had moved in order to accommodate him. Her eyes scanned the room, but the only person that was blatantly staring at them was some Hufflepuff boy— Oh. It was Owen Something-or-Other from Art Club.

When he realized that he had caught her eye, Owen waved cheerfully before he disappeared behind a bookcase. Pansy flinched at the familiarity, and she was glad that Draco's face was still hidden in her neck.

Speaking of which… Pansy ran her hand through Draco's hair in a soft caress. "Darling?"

"What?"

She dug her fingers into his hair and abruptly yanked his head back. Draco cried out against the unexpected pain, and a nearby student gave them a curious look before tactfully averting her gaze.

"The fuck, Pansy?" he exploded, clutching his scalp.

"Draco, we were putting on a show for some Hufflepuff kid? You've finally gone off the deep end," she told him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Lower your voice," he snapped, glaring at her.

"Draco, there's nobody here except those girls—"

"Pansy, either shut up or switch to French. This is fucking serious, okay? I'm trying to bloody _tell_ you something."

The anger in his voice gave her pause when she would have otherwise been incensed for being spoken to like that. She felt the sting of trepidation. "Why is it serious?" she asked warily. "What's going on?" _What have you done?_

"_Pansy_!"

"_Fine_! _En bref, s'il te plaît_!" _In short, please._

"_Je ne peux pas expliquer ici, mais j'ai reçu une lettre de mon père, et elle change tout pour nous, Pansy_." _I can't explain here, but I got a letter from my father, and it changes everything, Pansy._

Something cold blossomed in her stomach. What could Lucius Malfoy possibly have to say that could change _everything_? Was it about the Dark Lord? About a potential marriage match for Draco? It didn't bode well. She didn't think that she wanted to know.

Draco had stopped speaking, and he looked like he was waiting for some kind of response.

"Um… What?" she said.

Draco gave her an exasperated look. "_Tu ne m'écoute pas, n'est-ce pas_?" _You aren't listening to me, are you?_

Pansy ran a weary hand over her face. "English, Draco," she muttered. She was having a hard enough time concentrating on what he was trying to tell her.

He rolled his eyes and stood up. "It doesn't matter. Just make sure that it gets done."

She gave him a resentful look. "Yes, _Master_ Malfoy. Whatever you want, because you're clearly too lazy to do it yourself."

Draco gave her a humorless smile. "Right." He turned to go, but he paused and said, "Oh, and Pansy?"

"What?" she asked as she bent down to get her bag.

The sharp bang as Draco brought his fists down in front of her made her flinch upright in alarm. Stunned, she met his suddenly blazing eyes.

"The next time that you get the urge to stick your tongue down some dirty Mudblood's throat, you sure as hell better be smart enough not to do it in plain sight," he said in a furious whisper.

He gave her a disgusted sneer and then left her in a swirl of dark robes and righteous indignation.

The silence of the library engulfed her, and then there was only the sound of her still-beating heart. The axis of the universe had tilted that day, but the tenacious little organ kept chugging away.

She had the distinct feeling that she was being stared at again, but Pansy could only stare at her own ghost-white reflection in the tabletop. She had to wonder again at when everything in her life had gone so terribly wrong.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Slytherins did not enjoy spending their time lurking around in dark corners and shadows.

Of course, that didn't mean that they _didn't_ lurk around in dark corners and shadows. They just didn't necessarily _enjoy_ it. As much fun as clandestine meetings could be, Pansy preferred the ones that didn't occur in the Forbidden Forest… at night.

She shivered against the cold air and leaned back into the arm of a crooked tree. If she _had_ to be in the Forbidden Forest after dark—or at _all_— then she wasn't going to leave her back unguarded. Who knew whom or what was lurking around in the darkness that wasn't— or _was_— a fellow Slytherin that was just waiting for an opportunity to attack her from behind?

"Why did he want us to meet him out here?" Alyssa asked. She was eyeing the surrounding trees nervously.

"For the privacy, obviously," Blaise said, looking just as edgy as they all felt. They were barely _in_ the forest, and the slightest noise would probably scurry them. "Makes sense. There aren't going to be any spies or eavesdroppers in here at this time of night."

_You'd be surprised_, Pansy thought wryly. She suddenly wished that she'd brought a Sneak-O-Scope out with her. Maybe a quick look-around with a _Lumos_ spell should be in order…

"Yeah, but where is he?" Raquel voiced.

That was a good question. They were still in sight of the castle, but there was no hint of a blonde head anywhere.

"He didn't tell you _anything_ about why we're out here?" Alyssa asked Pansy, coming up to lean beside her on the tree.

She shook her head in the negative and avoided Alyssa's eyes. Pansy had delivered Draco's message to her roommates, but other than that, she had kept her distance from the lot of them. She was in no form of mind to play at company, and she had to wonder which one of them had been the one to rat her out to Draco. Her money was on Blaise, but there was still no way to be sure.

"Are you okay?" Alyssa pressed, sounding more curious than concerned. "You've been acting funny all day."

Pansy gave her a resentful look and moved away to rub her arms and pace restlessly, being sure to keep an eye on the surrounding darkness. "I just hate being out here."

Blaise snorted her agreement. "I say that we give him five more minutes before we go back in. Then, we'll snub him tomorrow in retaliation for this."

"You think that he's playing a joke on us?" Raquel said, looking alarmed. Pansy had to worry if that really wasn't the case. Maybe this whole thing was part of an elaborate punishment that he had concocted to get back at her for Dean. She wouldn't put it past him after seeing the look on his face in the library.

"What would he have to gain from that?" Millicent sensibly pointed out. "If we got caught out here, then we'd lose house points for Slytherin."

Pansy felt an inexplicable rush of anger. She reigned in her anxious energy and released it at Millicent with a slash of her tongue. "So, Malfoy pats your shoulder a few times and now you're sticking up for him?"

Millicent looked appalled, but she shot back, "He ignores you for five minutes and you turn on him?"

That got a few delighted smiles and aborted laughs.

Pansy's skin prickled unpleasantly, and she gave them all a death glare. "Watch what you say, Bulstrode!" she snarled. The girl had a lot of nerve, and this was _not_ the time to try her patience. Pansy was the closest thing to an ally that she had in their house in the sense that she didn't necessarily wish her outright harm… except for this particular moment.

Millicent seemed to realize this, because she backed down with a grimace and started pacing herself.

Alyssa laughed and edged back towards Pansy. "She's getting rather bold, isn't she?" she murmured.

"Imagine that," Raquel said with a bitter look at Pansy. "Someone challenging Queen Parkinson."

Pansy ignored her and watched Millicent for a moment more with burning eyes before she accepted that hexing wasn't going to be necessary. Sneering, she returned to her own pacing. She didn't spare a thought for Raquel. She was not _in the mood_. The girl had learned well enough what happened when someone got too "bold" with her. She didn't have to prove it again.

"Okay, if even _Parkinson_ isn't sticking up for Malfoy, then I think it's time to go back to our warm beds," Blaise said grumpily.

"That won't be necessary," said a voice from behind them.

There was a collective scream, and they all jumped away from the figure emerging from the woods.

Alyssa, who had seen the approach, deftly caught Pansy's wrist before she could make a break for it. "It's my fool of a brother," she said hastily. "It's _Theodore_!" she yelled over her shoulder to Blaise and Raquel, who were already halfway across the lawns. They stopped at Alyssa's shout and peered dubiously back at them.

Theodore strode forward to the edge of the shadows, where they met the moonlit grass, and hissed as loudly as he could without actually shouting, "Get your arses back _in_ here!" He turned to his sister and gave Alyssa a small shove. "_You_! What do you think you're doing, yelling at the top of your lungs? Why don't we just invite the entire castle out for this?"

"Don't touch her," Pansy snapped. She pulled out of Alyssa's hold and glared at him. "What the hell were you doing in there?"

"The fuck, Nott?" Blaise said angrily as she and Raquel rejoined them. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Not as funny as watching your skinny arse running away," he said dryly. "Nice display of cowardice, Zabini."

"You're confusing my house with the one whose occupants would be stupid enough to stand still—" She shot a contemptuous glance at Millicent, who had frozen out of fear, "—to be eaten by a werewolf." She pointed her wand threateningly at him, and his eyes widened. "But call me a coward again, Nott."

Pansy rolled her eyes and pulled Blaise's arm down. "You didn't answer my question, Nott. What were you doing in there?"

"The real question," he said with a wary glance at Blaise, "is why the lot of you are standing out here when you were supposed to meet us _in_ the Forbidden Forest?"

"We are _in_ the Forbidden Forest," Alyssa said defensively.

Theodore sneered and crossed the two feet until he was standing on the lawn and technically outside of the Forbidden Forest. "Look, now I'm two steps away from being as pathetic as you all are."

"Choke on it, Nott," Raquel spat. Theodore made a rude gesture at her.

"Where's Malfoy?" Blaise demanded, pulling his attention back to her.

"He's actually _in_ the Forbidden Forest, which is where we all are supposed to be about now."

"You left him _alone_ in there?" Pansy burst out. She had a terrifying mental image of Draco, alone and frightened, being stalked by some hideous beast.

"No, Crabbe and Goyle are in there with him," he said, sounding unimpressed, "but I'm glad to see how concerned you are with _my_ welfare, Parkinson."

"Please," Raquel said with a roll of her eyes. "When _your_ inheritance grows large enough to actually sprout legs and run away by itself to the Caribbean, then we'll worry about _you_."

"You're too pasty for the Caribbean," Theodore said coolly. "Besides, some people can't afford to be as _choosey_ as they once hoped." He was speaking to Raquel, but the look he gave Pansy made her stiffen.

_Dream on, Nott_, she thought angrily, _because I'd marry an Italian cousin long before I'd ever willingly lay a finger on you. Just call me Signora Pansy Paravita. I'll send you a pizza._

"Are you all just going to stand there, or are you coming?" Theodore asked impatiently.

"I am _not_ going in _there_," Alyssa said with a fearful glance at the darkness between the trees. There was a tacit agreement from her roommates in their lack of locomotion.

"Then you can stay here to get picked off," Theodore said in a demonstration of brotherly concern. Without further ado, he turned and disappeared between the trees.

The girls exchanged hesitant glances.

"Who's for leaving them in there to die?" Blaise prompted hopefully.

There were cautious smiles as they pretended that they weren't considering it.

"I mean, if it was just _Theodore_," Alyssa said, mirroring that sibling protectiveness they all knew she was capable of.

"Yeah, but Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't stand a chance," Pansy said reluctantly.

"And we'd never find out what Malfoy wanted," Raquel reminded them.

No one moved.

"Were those our only motivations?" Millicent asked disappointedly.

"Well, there's always the chance that someone or some_thing_ witnessed us coming out here," Pansy offered. "If that were the case, and if the boys were never seen again, then there's a chance that we'd be implicated in their murder trials. Especially if our only explanation for coming out here is that Draco is a paranoid, secretive twit."

"They'd never convict us," Blaise countered.

"Well, do you really want to trust the rest of your life to a freshly graduated law wizard?" Pansy asked skeptically. "Because I'm going to be using _all_ of the bestdefense advocates for my legal team, and I'm not sharing any of them with you lot."

"Thanks a lot, Parkinson," Blaise said, glowering at her.

"Yeah, we'll remember that," Raquel said.

"I'm trembling," she said flatly.

"Are we going in or not?" Millicent asked timidly, bringing them back to the issue at hand.

They individually weighed their options until Pansy finally sighed in resignation. She muttered a fresh _Lumos_ spell and said grudgingly, "We'd better hurry before we lose him."

"We're all going to die," Alyssa said mournfully.

"This is so against our natures," Raquel moaned.

Pansy couldn't deny either statement. With their wands raised, the girls huddled together and bravely— or _not_ so bravely— rushed into the dark unknown in an effort to catch up with Theodore.

They skidded trees and tripped over roots and each other— "Ouch! Get _off_ me!" Pansy tried to steer them in the direction that she thought Theodore had gone in, but it soon became apparent that they had no idea which way that was. The darkness was so thick that even their combined spells barely illuminated more than a few feet away from them.

"What the hell is the point of a _Lumos_ spell if we can't _see_ anything?" Blaise said in exasperation.

A sudden screeching noise to their left made them all freeze in alarm. Pansy gripped her wand until her fingers turned white. She started trembling as the first vestiges of an oncoming panic attack became apparent. This was a mistake. They shouldn't be out here.

"We have to go back," Alyssa whispered urgently. "If we don't, then we're going to _die_!"

"But which way is back?" Millicent asked, looking around frantically.

"There was a weird tree!" Raquel cried, spinning around. "_Fuck_, where _is_ it?"

"They're _all_ weird trees, you idiot!" Blaise yelled.

Pansy covered her ears and struggled to concentrate. They weren't helping.

"Shut up, shut up!" Raquel hissed. "It'll hear you!"

"_You_ just yelled!"

Alyssa was starting to sound hysterical. "We're gonna die. We're gonna die. We're—"

"Somebody slap her," Pansy growled. "We just have to find—"

Their wands went out.

They began screaming.

Just as abruptly, there was light. Pansy flinched against the harsh brightness. She was blinking away the first spots of adjustment that clouded her vision when she heard the laughter.

_Laughter_.

Pansy sprung around to find the boys of her year huddled around a fire that had most definitely _not_ been there before. They were laughing so hard that they were bent over and grasping each other's shoulders for support. Five horrified faces beheld them.

"You should see the looks on your faces," Theodore wheezed.

Blaise's face turned red with fury. "You bastards!" she shrieked. "You utter _bastards_!"

"I can't believe you did that," Alyssa said shakily.

Pansy put her hands on her knees and struggled to breathe normally. Goyle patted her shoulder sympathetically.

"_We're gonna die. We're gonna die_," Draco mocked. "Bloody priceless."

"It's not funny!" Alyssa yelled.

"I beg to differ," Theodore said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Where did _this_ come from?" Pansy asked Goyle of the fire.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Theodore cut him off. "It was here the entire time. There are disillusionment charms up, and we warded the area to alert us to when someone was approaching and to extinguish your luminating spells."

"You warded against _us_?" Pansy said indignantly. Theodore mimed a kiss at her.

"It was for _anyone_ that might be coming," Goyle explained sheepishly.

"Right," she said, glaring at Theodore.

"That's a lot of effort for a house meeting," Blaise said, seeming to lose some of her anger in favor of curiosity.

"Don't think there won't be retribution for this," Raquel snarled.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Will you all shut up? We have something more important to discuss here than your pathetic attempts at revenge."

"This better be bloody important," Raquel said, still looking murderous.

"It is," Draco said, abruptly serious. "So important, in fact, that I couldn't tell you about it anywhere less private than this."

Pansy felt apprehensive watching him. She really had no idea what this could be about, but a part of her hoped that his news was going to prove to be something trivial.

"I'm shivering with anticipation, Malfoy," Blaise said. "Get on with it."

"I received a letter from my father this morning—"

"Fascinating."

"Do we have to gag you?" Theodore snapped.

"Try it, Nott. I _dare_ you."

"I'm going to kill you _both_ if you don't shut _up_!" Draco cried angrily.

"We're listening. Go ahead," Crabbe said encouragingly.

"_Thank_ you," he said. "So, this letter was special, because beneath the exterior was a code."

"You and your father have a code?" Alyssa asked confusedly.

"_Yes_," he snapped, "and if you were smart, then you'd have one, too. In fact, you're _going_ to get one, because the stakes have just gone up and you could risk everything with a negligent comment in a stupid letter."

"You're being especially cryptic tonight, Malfoy," Raquel said, looking worried.

Pansy wanted to ask him to hurry up and spit it out, but she was afraid to bring his attention onto her in light of their last conversation. She shifted from one foot to another and kept her head down, despite the rising fear within her that made her want to lash out. Millicent stood beside her, shivering and looking miserable.

"What did the code say?" Raquel asked curiously.

Draco and Theodore shared a slow, disturbing smile that made Pansy stare in morbid fascination. This couldn't be good.

"This is it, finally," Draco said. "What we've all been waiting for."

"We're finally being recognized for our potential," Theodore said eagerly.

"Our patience has finally paid off."

"Patience and potential for _what_?" Crabbe asked confusedly.

Draco drew himself up proudly. "For _this_, Crabbe. There's a mission for us, and this is our chance to prove our worth to the cause."

"A _mission_?" Blaise said incredulously. "What does that mean?"

"It means that we have a _task_ to do, Zabini," Theodore said patronizingly. She glared at him and made a rude gesture in his direction.

"Who says that we have a task to do?" Raquel said, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

Theodore and Draco's smiles became positively feral.

"The Dark Lord himself."

His words were met with a stunned silence. Pansy felt her blood freeze.

"You're… joking, right?" Blaise said uncertainly. She looked at Pansy. "He's joking, isn't he?"

"Why would I _joke_ about this?" he said, frowning. "Why would my _father_ joke about this? It's not a game, Zabini. This is the future of the wizarding world we're talking about here!"

"And the parts we're going to play in it," Theodore added.

Pansy couldn't believe that this was actually happening. The situation was too surreal to be real. "But we're still in school," she found herself saying. "We have nothing to offer yet."

Draco didn't look at her, but he addressed the entire group as if someone else had spoken. "The Dark Lord is aware of the limitations of our service at this point, but he's still found a way for us to do our parts."

"According to your father?" Blaise said skeptically.

He gave her a cold look. "Of course. Who's closer to the Dark Lord than my father? Did you expect him to just stop by to deliver the message in person? Maybe have some tea with Dumbledore while he's here?"

"No, but…"

"Anyway," he said, cutting her off. "There weren't any specifics about the task in this letter, but I expect that they'll come later. However—"

"_No_ specifics?" Raquel interrupted. "You mean that we don't even know what we're doing?"

"Do our parents know about this?" Alyssa asked nervously.

"Of course they do, you idiot," Theodore said. "Well, those parents of ours that _qualify_ for such intimate information." Pansy didn't miss the dig, and she stiffened predictably in anger.

"Can I _speak_ here?" Draco said irritably. "Yes? Okay. We don't know what the task is going to be yet, but my father did indicate a list of things that we're going to need to do it."

"So, it's going to be a spell of some sort?" Millicent asked, speaking up for the first time since they had discovered the bonfire.

"That's right," Draco said, smirking. "A spell that we can do right from here. As far as that goes…" He and Theodore exchanged pregnant glances again. "We've discussed it, and we decided—"

"Who's this _we_?" Blaise interrupted again.

"Theodore and I," Draco said smoothly. Nott straightened his back and gave them all a superior smirk.

"When did you decide this?" Goyle asked, sounding hurt.

"While you and Crabbe were in the kitchens," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Now, we're going to need some things from Snape's stash: henbane, aloe wood, hemlock, saffron, opium, and mandrake, to be exact. Look, there's no getting around it. Someone is going to have to take care of that."

"Someone being…?" Alyssa prompted.

"Would you shut it?" Theodore snapped. "We're trying to explain this to you people."

His sister scowled at him, but he ignored her and continued on in what was clearly a rehearsed manner. "Draco and I have run through all of the different angles and possibilities, and there's really only one person we need to play thief for us."

Nott paused for theatrical effect, clearly enjoying himself. Pansy wanted to hit him, and she could tell from the similar expressions around her that she wasn't the only one. Even Draco rolled his eyes.

"Who's going to get it?" Millicent finally asked. She looked frightened.

Pansy's eyes widened, because she was suddenly very much aware of whom that lucky choice was. She knew immediately from the evil light that sparked behind Theodore's irises.

His smile was cold. "_You_ are, Bulstrode," he said softly. "_You_ are going to get what we need."

There was a tense silence.

If it was possible to drain a person of their blood in mere seconds, then Theodore had just done it. Millicent was as pale as the moonlight shining on her face.

"I… I…" she stuttered helplessly, shaking her head in denial.

"You-You will be given ample opportunity," Theodore said, smiling brightly. He wasn't even trying to conceal his glee at Millicent's expense. "We'll see to that."

"Everything will be planned out in advance, of course," Draco said, watching her closely with a shielded expression. "You won't have to worry about a thing."

Millicent shook her head again. She was starting to back away, and Pansy wondered if she would actually run. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco covertly send a discreet signal, and suddenly Crabbe and Goyle were blocking Millicent's escape. She glanced at them over her shoulder in alarm when her back collided with Goyle's stomach. Millicent was starting to look caged in, and it reflected in the fear in her eyes.

Pansy's heart was pounding in her chest. Her eyes bounced back and forth between Draco and Millicent. They were on the brink of something huge that they couldn't ever come back from. Millicent was a heartbeat away from having a nervous breakdown, and she didn't know what they would be forced to do if that happened.

Her fingers were tightening on her wand when Draco took a step forward. He gracefully crossed the circle and planted his hands firmly on Millicent's shoulders.

He brought his face in close to hers and said in a steady, comforting voice, "It's okay to be afraid, Millicent. We all understand. This is a big deal. It's a big responsibility, but we wouldn't ask you to do this unless we believed that you were capable. _I_ believe that you can do this. I have faith in you."

"I _can't_," she said desperately.

Draco continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Do you know why I have faith in you, Millicent?"

"No, but—"

"I have faith in you, because you're a Slytherin. You're family. _We're_ a family, Millicent. All of us. We take care of each other. If we don't, then who else will? It's us against the world. _Us_, Millicent. We _need_ you. Do you have any idea how _important_ you are?"

Millicent seemed caught in his gaze, bringing to mind the inevitable comparison to a fly in a web. She twitched a little, like she was fighting him for control of her own motor skills, but she remained immobile in his hold.

Draco's face was aglow with the light of a zealot. "Do you realize what an _amazing_ opportunity this is?"

"Opportunity?" Millicent repeated vacantly. She looked awestruck by the glow.

"Oh, yes," Draco said in a breathless whisper. Millicent's eyes flickered as he softly brushed the hair away from her face. "This is an opportunity for _you_ to do something for your family, your friends, your _people_, Millicent."

"My people…?"

"_Yes_. Think of how proud your parents are going to be of you, Millicent. Your father? You want to make him proud, don't you?"

Millicent visibly gulped. "I…"

"He's given so much of himself to the cause, hasn't he, Millicent? Time, money, the proper use of his leg… I'd bet my life, though, that he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He _believes_ in it. He's devoted his entire life to it. He's counting on you. We all are. We can count on you, can't we, Millicent?"

Pansy vaguely realized that she was shaking, and it wasn't from the cold. She hugged her chest tightly to imply the opposite, but she needn't have bothered. Millicent had Draco's full attention focused in on her, not sparing even a flicker of a glance for anyone else. Pansy knew from personal experience how quaking that kind of attention from him could be.

Nonetheless, Pansy couldn't bring herself to feel jealous of the exclusion that they were radiating towards everyone else. She also knew from personal experience that the seemingly intimate moment they were witnessing was no more than cold, calculated coercion and manipulation occurring before their very eyes. Draco had employed similar tactics the summer that he had convinced her to jump from a terrace at Malfoy Manor into a shallow wading pool they had concocted themselves with the help of a nervous house elf. She broke both of her arms, and Draco walked away without much more than a bruise or two.

"We're all behind you, Millicent," he continued. "Every step of the way." He gave her a confidant smile, showing off perfect teeth that Pansy would have bet anything were professionally worked on over the summer— the vain git. "Really, it should only take a few moments."

A few moments that would change everything. Pansy sucked in a shaky breath.

Draco gently brushed his thumb over Millicent's cheek. "You can spare us that, can't you? Your family?"

The other members of the circle were all holding their breaths, captivated by the spell that Draco was weaving.

The answer they were all waiting for came in a small, broken whisper.

"Yes."

Pansy watched as Millicent finally seemed to come to her bearings. She shook her head as if ridding it of that glassy fog that Draco had no doubt planted there, and she looked like she may very well throw up at any moment.

_Yes_, she had said.

_Yes_, they could count on her? _Yes_, she wanted to please her father? _Yes_, she wanted to please Draco?

It didn't matter.

Not with a _yes_.

Blaise suddenly cleared her throat loudly, breaking the spell. "Well, who knew that it would come down to Bulstrode?" she said in a falsely pleasant voice.

She didn't look pleased at all. In fact, none of them did. Her housemates all seemed confused and reluctant about the choice of candidate.

Blaise wasn't finished. She said with a pointed look in Pansy's direction, "I suppose she'll have to do, since certain other _options_ were eliminated through nepotism."

Ah, yes. What they were all thinking: it should have been Pansy.

Pansy knew that she was the logical choice. She had the closest connection to Snape, and it would have been relatively simple for her to snatch the necessary components for their "project," since she was one of the only two Slytherins in their year still taking Potions.

Frankly, if one had to choose a single person from their house to assign such an important task to, who could be expected to come out as more competent than her? She was more likely than anyone else other than Draco to get the job done without implication. It didn't even make sense to choose anyone else. Unless…

Nepotism? Was there some reason why Draco didn't want her to do this? Was he purposely trying to keep her out of it? Why?

Draco didn't bother to deny it. He was still staring at Millicent, maybe making sure that she wasn't still going to run. Blaise was glaring accusingly at her, and Pansy had to turn away from them all so that she could focus on breathing through the choking sensation that she was experiencing.

It _should_ have been _Pansy_, and they all knew it.

Too bad, Millicent.

* * *


	6. Fear Shall Force

**Disclaimer:** J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. own all Harry Potter related trademark.

**Author's Note:** So, apparently I lied when I said that FE would never be updated at this site again. For the record, I still abhor their policies. However, it really isn't fair to punish those of you that have been so wonderful and supportive over here. Thanks to all of you for your continued interest and support. Also, thanks to the marvelous **sandundershoes** for her French translations. She's amazing.

**Warning**: There are elements through OotP that have been incorporated into FE, but there are still plenty of stubborn AU elements. We're not even going to talk about HBP. Also, thanks to the hp-lexicon, it is now known that Terry Boot is a Muggleborn. For the purposes of my story, he is being written as a pureblood. You can handle that, right?

* * *

**Forgivable Expectations**

**Chapter 6: Fear Shall Force**

_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

—The Sorting Hat in _Sorcerer's Stone_.

"And fear shall force what friendship cannot win…"

— Lorenzo, Thomas Kyd's The Spanish Tragedy.

* * *

There was only so much a person could take.

That was what Pansy told herself as she descended upon the library. She had most definitely had enough of being ignored and shunned by her supposed best friend. Weeks later, she still experienced a pleasant thrill whenever she thought about Blaise being forced to come crawling back to her like a lowly urchin. However, she could at least respect her a tad more now that she was in a similar position. The difference was that Pansy had her own way of dealing with embarrassing situations, and she would be damned if she would ever follow Blaise's example in anything she did. She liked to give herself a bit more credit than that.

Pansy swept through the bookcases, searching purposely for her wayward target. She had to double-back when a glimpse of blonde hair finally caught the corner of her eye. His was standing at the opposite end of the row with his back to her. She started forward, but another voice stopped her.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Patil? Pansy paused, considering, and then drew back. She switched and moved as stealthily as she could down the next aisle. Peaking through the books, she confirmed that the voice did indeed belong to Patil. She wasn't wearing a defining house scarf, but the clusters of books around her as well as her actual presence in the library suggested that it was Padma.

"Your help," Draco said.

Padma looked dubious, as she rightly should. "I don't think there's anything I can do for you, Malfoy. Prefects can't cancel out detentions that other prefects deal out. You know that."

Pansy's attention perked up. Draco had gotten a detention? For what?

"I'm perfectly aware of what a prefect can and can't do," he said coolly. "That's not what I was referring to."

Pansy braced herself for a bad sexual pun. Padma was smart enough not to wait for one. "Look, I'm meeting someone—"

"For tutoring?" he suggested with a sly smile.

"Yes, I—" Comprehension flooded her face. "_You_ scheduled this appointment with me?"

_Quick minds my arse_, Pansy thought wryly.

Draco's smile widened, and Padma hurriedly began packing up her things. "I don't know what you're playing at, but I don't want any part."

"Isn't there a Ravenclaw vow or something about helping the academically challenged?"

"It doesn't apply to you."

"You know," he said amusedly, "I'm detecting some hostility from you, Ms. Patil."

_Miss Patil. Miss Parkinson._ Pansy cringed. She was suddenly very sure that she didn't want to hear anymore. She momentarily considered abandoning her undertaking and retreating back to her common room. Eavesdropping on Draco picking up on girls wasn't something she wanted to be doing, and there were limits to her emotional mutilation. Granted, there weren't many when it came to Draco Malfoy, but this was definitely pressing the issue.

"You're very perceptive," Padma said flatly.

"I beg to differ," Pansy said, stepping out from behind the bookcase. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the bookcase, smirking at Draco. "A perceptive person would know to stop barking up the wrong tree after the cat had already smacked him in the face."

They both looked surprised to see her, but Padma seemed more relieved than anything else. Draco frowned.

"Hey, Pansy," she said, hefting her bag onto her shoulder. She gave Draco a disgruntled look. "I _thought_ that you'd lost something."

Pansy only spared her a disdainful glance before riveting her stare to Draco. This was the last time that Patil was going to get away with referring to her in the familiar like they were friends or something. That was long over, and the girl better hope that Blaise never had anything more than suspicion that there ever was a _that_ to begin with.

Draco held her stare until Padma had disappeared from sight. Then, he dropped into her chair and said, "Happy?" His expression was blank, but his eyes revealed a simmering anger.

She said nothing.

"Did you get what you came for," he said coldly, "or is there something else?"

"Actually," she said, stepping forward, "there is."

Before Draco had time to register what was happening, Pansy had shoved herself into his lap. She gripped his face and placed a brutal kiss on his mouth. He made a strangled, surprised noise, but she only pressed harder. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, and Draco's body gave a collective twitch. His hands gripped and scratched at his armrests, clearly unsure of where to go.

She dug her fingers into his hair to keep him from moving his face away. Pansy had to keep him off-balance before he could come to his senses and begin to wonder why his formerly pseudo-platonic best friend was in his lap like this. It wasn't as if it were an undesirable chore, as if she didn't spend every waking hour _thinking_ about this.

Her hands slid down from his face to his chest and back up again to curl strands of white blonde around her fingers. Warm sensations shivered to life within Pansy's body, and she had to resist the compelling urge to rock against him until he screamed all of the beautiful things that she wanted to hear. She didn't have to actually do it to know that the act would feel far too good for it to be allowed. This was more like business. However, it didn't _all_ feel like business, because, against all laws of intelligence and decency, she _loved_ him. Why couldn't he _see_ that?

She could feel it the second Draco finally surrendered in both body _and_ mind, giving up on his confusion and just going with it. He let out a moan that reverberated throughout both their bodies, and Pansy shivered against him. His hands finally moved to her back, the fabric clenching between his fingers. For a moment— _just this moment_— it was easy to forget the reason for all of this. That could only last for so long.

Just as Draco was beginning to take control of the kiss, Pansy abruptly yanked her face away. He made a bereft noise and tried to follow her movement, but Pansy put a restraining hand on his chest and craned her face away. His eyes fluttered open, and she was met with a gaze swimming with mystification and desire. The sight made her head swim, and she rested her flushed cheek against his.

"Pans?" Draco queried, the hot pants of his breaths hitting her neck.

She slowly removed her fingers from his hair and turned her face so that her lips brushed the shell of his ear. When she spoke, her voice was low and throaty.

"_Tu peux goûter la boue_?"

_Can you taste the mud_?

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, Pansy knew it because she was suddenly flying through the air. She barely had time to register the sense of weightlessness before her bum collided painfully with the stone floor. She winced at the impact and just managed to avoid biting her tongue clean off.

It _hurt_, but she felt like laughing. She could feel the corners of her lips curling upward. She was usually more than content playing the passive role to Draco's aggressive stance, but every once in a while, he needed to be reminded that she _chose_ to be passive for him. Though, she had a sneaking suspicion that he _liked_ it when someone else had control. She could only imagine the kind of pressure he was constantly under from everyone around him, Dark Lord or not. It must be extremely tempting to _just let go_ for once. A release outlet could only be good for him…

… as long as it was with Pansy.

If anything, this encounter proved her private theory. So, in essence, teaching him a lesson was beneficial for both of them. Draco learned something about himself, and Pansy got him off her back. _Well_… Her smile widened. _Figuratively_. Maybe she should have waited to see how far she could go before Draco finally had to stop her. Wouldn't _that_ be something?

Pansy took a moment to listen to the rapid thumping of her own heart and to bring her face-splitting grin down to a mere smirk. Then, she slowly raised her eyes to Draco.

He looked adorably ruffled in the way that a viper would if a viper could ever be adorable. His usually immaculate hair was tousled and sticking up in random places from being finger-combed. Fury had added an additional flush to his face, and his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing. Draco's eyes were hard as marble, and his kiss-mussed lips twisted into a sneer.

She glared at him and he snorted. Tossing his head, Draco swung his legs up onto the table and reclined in his chair. He picked up one of the books that Padma had left behind and proceeded to ignore her.

Oh, _right_.

Pansy had to roll her eyes. "No, I suppose you _can't_," she continued as if she hadn't just been hurled to the floor, "because Zabini's a liar."

Draco immediately gave up his pretense. His eyes flicked up from the book and narrowed at her. "Is she?"

"Can't be much of a surprise," she snapped, rising up to her feet. She brushed off her clothes and straightened herself out with a deliberate meticulousness just to show that he hadn't ruffled her. Inside, she was momentarily boiling at the realization that he had _thrown_ her, but she pressed the anger down deep. There were more important and immediate things right now than indignation.

Pansy folded her arms across her chest and boldly lifted her chin. "However, the fact that you actually believed her calls your sanity into question."

Draco's smile was frosty, and she felt chills go up her arms. "Why do you assume that it was Zabini? I thought that you finally had her wrapped around your finger since that whole woman-scored tizzy you threw?"

He _would_ bring that up, and he _would_ make her feel like dirt. "If it wasn't Blaise, then who was it?" she demanded through gritted teeth. "You don't think I ought to know who's spreading slander against me?"

He cocked his head at her, the false smile still in place. "I'm sorry, but I have to protect my sources. As head of this pseudo-family, it's my responsibility to preserve the trust they place in me."

She made an incredulous noise. "Oh, that's _lovely_, Draco. So, you're just going to let the wolves have at me? _Alors, nous sommes comme ça maintenant_?" _So, we're like that now?_

All traces of even false humor melted from his face, and she could see a flash of something fierce flare across his features. Pansy experienced the strange sensation of wanting to back away from him. His voice was restrained from becoming an actual yell, but he may as well have screamed for all the venom he spat at her. "The _wolves_ don't have to work very hard when you—" He abruptly caught himself before he could actually say what she had done aloud, and the effort clearly cost him, judging by the jumping vein in his forehead. The kinetic energy buzzing between his ears must have been too much, because Draco brought his fist down hard against the table, making Pansy jump in surprise.

_He's going to hurt himself if he keeps doing that_, she thought dazedly.

Pansy couldn't help staring, feeling fascinated. It had been awhile since she'd seen him struggle for control like this. These days, unless your name was Potter, you didn't garner this much of a reaction from him. She didn't know what to do with this, so she just watched him warily. Should she push him or soothe him?

Unsurprisingly, Draco chose for her. He glanced around in search of potential eavesdroppers before he spoke again in a harsh whisper. "When you go around snogging pieces of _filth_ in plain view, thereby _debasing_ yourself and your house!"

_Me_, he didn't add, but she heard it just the same.

"Oh, I agree," she said flatly, "but I hope you realize that you're the only piece of filth that I've snogged in the past week."

Draco slammed his book shut and stood. "Cute," he snapped. "Not your wit, of course, but the fact that you're lying directly to my face without so much as blinking."

He was right, of course. "I'm not the liar here," she said bitterly, thinking of that disastrous party. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw her best friends making a fool of her in front of everyone that mattered. She still got a sick feeling in her stomach whenever she thought about it. Like _now_.

She witnessed something on his face that could have been a grimace, but it was gone before she could identify it. Just as quickly, he was suddenly invading her personal space and blocking out the dim light cast by the dulling lamp that hung behind him. Alarmed, Pansy craned her neck backwards to avoid getting a face full of his shirt.

Draco put a finger in her face, and her eyes widened. "I have _never_ broken a promise to you. _Ever_."

He _dared_ to… Enraged, she smacked his hand away and shoved him backwards. He stumbled a few steps, but that was all. He was obviously stronger and steadier than she was, and it made her angrier that she couldn't cause him any physical harm without the aid of a present wand or sword.

"Don't you _ever_ put your finger in my face again, Draco Malfoy!" she raged. She wasn't one of his house elves or _anything_ he was allowed to consider subordinate to himself.

His eyes flicked over her dispassionately, as if her indignation were merely tedious to him, but he backed off and returned to his chair. "_Je _te_ dirais encore de ne faire des choses spécifiques, mais vraiment ça ne devrait pas être nécessaire_." _I'd tell _you_ not to do certain things again, but then I really shouldn't have to say it._

Pansy gave him a sneer of her own. "Oh, I'll start listening to you when you start making sense."

"_Tu commenceras à m'écouter _immédiatement_, si tu sais ce que c'est bien pour toi_." _You'll start listening to me _now_ if you know what's good for you._

Pansy couldn't have heard what she thought she just heard, because that would mean… Her eyes widened in astonishment. "_Tu me menaces? Moi_?" _Are you threatening me? Me?_

"_Warning_ you," he corrected.

Her world was shrinking around her, and she could feel the pressure on her chest. She choked on a strained laugh. "I don't _believe_ this! _Tu me _préviens_? De quoi? Le fait que tu es comme les autres?" You're _warning_ me? Of what? The fact that you're like the others?_

Draco's forehead wrinkled. "What?"

She shook her head in amazement. "Oh, _fuck_ you, Malfoy. This is ridiculous, and you _know_ it. I've played by all the rules— _your_ stupid rules— and no one has _ever_ had any room to question anything I've done. _I_ didn't bring an outsider into our common room like some feather-brained twit. _I_ don't go around shagging everything that moves, regardless of pedigree or common decency. You want to talk about debasing yourself? How about we talk about _you_?"

He gave her a warning look. "_Don't_."

She wasn't going to let him detract her this time. Perhaps it would have been wise to stop this, but she was too angry to lend thought to reason. "I doubt very much that you research the bloodlines of _every_ tart that you soil yourself with. Actually, now that it's come up, I can tell you for a fact that Mandy Brocklehurst's mother is a Muggle. Yeah, that's right. A common, _dirty_ Muggle." She gave him an unkind smile. "How'd _that_ taste in your mouth?"

Draco didn't look amused in the slightest. "Been waiting long to use that info?" he drawled. She gave him a fierce glare. "Pretty pathetic, Parkinson."

"As pathetic as a colossal hypocrite, you mean?"

Draco didn't like to be called a hypocrite. He didn't like to be called on any of his bullshit, and Pansy knew it well. However, she still wasn't quite prepared when his words were sharp enough to cut her.

"I will _not_ be told what to do, Pansy. Not by _you_. Not by anyone."

She felt her throat constricting, and there was a sudden pain in her chest. Oh, _right_. The Dark Lord notwithstanding, Draco wouldn't listen to anyone except for his ex-con father and the only other man to ever attempt a paternal role: meaning Snape. Didn't she _know_ it.

Pansy could feel herself getting hysterical, but gaining control of herself right then felt like trying to hold a lid on a bottle that was about to explode. "So, it's okay for _you_," she said, "but you suspect one little infraction of _me,_ and I'm suddenly _persona non grata_? Jumping on the first sign of weakness? Hey, doesn't that sound familiar? Oh, right. It does, because it sounds just like Blaise!"

"Don't compare me to Zabini!" he cried angrily.

"Why not?" she challenged. "What difference does it make when the end result is the same? I'm still getting stabbed in the back!"

"_Miss Parkinson_!"

Pansy nearly jumped out of her skin as Madame Pince descended upon them from between the bookcases. She shouldn't have been so surprised when they had both apparently forgotten to keep their voices down, but she had also managed to forget that there was anyone else in the world that wasn't directly affected by this bitter melodrama.

The librarian gave them both furious looks. "And Mr. Malfoy! This is a _library_, and not a place where you can air your dirty laundry with a bullhorn!"

Draco gave her a dirty look. He retrieved the book from the table and shoved it into her arms. "Since you apparently have nothing better to do," he said.

Madame Pince looked properly scandalized, but Draco grabbed Pansy's arm and dragged her away before the poor librarian could get her bearings and really let him have it.

_He'll never be allowed to borrow from the reserves now_, she thought.

Leaving the library, he led her down the hallway and then shoved her into a window alcove. From this stance, they were at least partially concealed from the view of anyone leaving the library. Feeling sullen, Pansy re-crossed her arms and averted her gaze to the view from the window. She didn't particularly care to listen to him when he had just made it perfectly clear that he held absolutely no intention of ever listening to _her_. What was supposed to do? Prepare for a life of quiet submission? Plaster on a fake smile and pretend that she didn't care? Could Draco actually expect that?

"This is a lot of bother over a stupid rumor," she muttered.

"Stop it."

"You're behaving like an idiot. But then, that was probably Blaise's plan. You know that she's been wanting to get back at you ever since— mmrf!" Her stream of words was cut short by Draco's hand coming down over her mouth. She made an indignant noise, but the look on his face gave her pause.

He leaned close and whispered, "I _saw_ you."

Pansy stared at him over his palm, trying to gauge if he was bluffing or not. Draco had already left before Pansy and Dean had finished working with their temula, and she hadn't seen him when they'd left the greenhouse. What was he doing? Hiding in the bushes? That was ludicrous. He couldn't have seen anything. Unless… Well, unless he had come _back_. But why would he do that? Maybe he had forgotten something, or maybe he had finally realized that running off and leaving his friend alone with a Muggleborn was a bad idea.

He had to be bluffing.

She finally pushed his hand away. "You couldn't have seen anything," she tried, "because there wasn't—"

"Keep digging, Pansy," he warned her. "You'll bury yourself alive."

"Thank you, King of Hyperbole," she muttered.

"Stop being cute. I _saw_ you. I saw Thomas put his dirty, common, _Mudblood_ hands on you, and I saw you _like_ it."

Okay, that was _enough_. "Shut up," she snapped. "Just shut up, Draco."

"What?" he said, looking amused. "No more protestations? You don't want to try blaming another one of your friends? Personally, I think Raquel would have made a better scapegoat, but to each his own."

Pansy wanted to hit him. "You like to hear yourself talk, Malfoy."

He shrugged, watching her intently. "So, you're admitting it, then?"

She did hesitate, but her frustration was catching up with her. She averted her eyes and said quietly, "It was a mistake."

She heard Draco release a breath, and she braced herself. "Damn right it was," he said darkly.

"Oh, come off it," she said, irritated. "I would love nothing more than to sit down and count out all of _your_ mistakes."

Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed her arm. "Come on. We're ending this."

"What?"

Pansy was confused enough to allow herself to be dragged off _again_. Not that she had much choice in the matter.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To finish this," was his curt reply.

"You keep saying that," she said worriedly as they emerged into the Entrance Hall. "What are you— Oh, no." Pansy felt her heart sink into her chest. He _wouldn't_. She tried to drag her feet, but Draco didn't even slow down. He headed directly over towards where Dean and Finnigan were loitering together. "Draco, don't," she pleaded. He wouldn't humiliate her like this, would he?

"Thomas!" Draco barked loud enough so that people turned to stare.

Mortified, Pansy tried to adjust her hand in his grip so that it looked like she was just holding his hand and that this had nothing to do with her. It was hard when she already had to practically jog to keep up with him.

Dean looked understandably shocked to see Draco and Pansy bearing down on him in a reasonably crowded corridor.

"We need to talk, Thomas," he said. "_Now_."

Poor Dean looked so confused. Pansy tried to apologize for this with her eyes, but Draco gave her a venomous look. Dean was looking back and forth between them, obviously trying to gage the situation, but Draco's authoritative tone made him visibly stiffen.

"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Finnigan asked, looking genuinely curious.

"Shove off, Finnigan," he said without taking his eyes off Dean.

"The hell I will!"

Pansy wanted to tell him to keep his loud, Irish mouth shut. People were _staring_. As it were, she couldn't get the words past the lump in her throat.

Playing pacifier, Dean said, "It's okay, Seamus. I'll meet you."

"What?" his friend said incredulously. "Are you barmy?"

"Good question," Draco murmured barely under his breath with another glare down at Pansy. His grip kept her trapped beside him, so she tried to meld into his side and disappear. Why was he doing this?

"It's okay, mate," Dean repeated. He scowled at Draco. "Come on." He left a gaping Finnigan behind and began walking down the corridor at a brisk pace. Pansy choked down a yelp when Draco abruptly tugged her after him. She had to trot to keep up with them.

Dean finally paused beside a door. He tried the handle and peaked inside. Clearly finding it empty, he ushered them in. Hauling Pansy behind him, Draco swept past and into the classroom. Dean rolled his eyes at the dramatics and pulled the door shut behind them.

"Problem?" he said.

Pansy finally tore her arm out of Draco's hold and rubbed her wrist angrily.

"Oh, just a small misunderstanding," Draco said, leaning back against one of the desks, "and I'll be brief."

"Okay," Dean said uneasily.

Draco's mouth curled unkindly. "You seem to think that there's something going on between you and Pansy. I'm here to tell you that there's not. Whatever _this_ was, it's over starting _now_."

A horribly loaded silence settled over the room.

Dean looked absolutely stunned. He glanced at Pansy, but she had no answers for him. This situation was too surreal to actually be happening.

"I don't think that's your call to make," Dean said slowly.

"I didn't ask what you thought," Draco said, looking as serious as she had ever seen him.

Dean seemed to shake himself of his surprise. "How is this any of your business, Malfoy?" he demanded angrily. He turned to her with an incredulous expression. "Pansy! What does he think he's doing?"

That was a very good question. "Draco—" she managed.

Draco cut her off. "_He_ thinks that he's doing you a favor by halting this thing early and before you start getting even more deluded ideas about where this _thing_ is going. It's not."

Pansy could only stare at him. Draco looked ridiculously self-satisfied— even for him. Could he actually be enjoying himself? Dean looked like he wanted to punch him in the teeth.

"Pansy, why are you letting him—?"

"You're out of your element, Thomas," Draco interrupted. "You have no idea who you're dealing with here. If I were you, then I'd stick to my stencils and paint set."

"No one _asked_ you, Malfoy!" Dean yelled. "I recall Pansy saying that you _weren't_ her boyfriend, and even if you were, she's not your property!"

Draco spared her a brief look that spoke volumes of irritation. "Pansy probably told you a lot of things that are completely irrelevant, but _I'm_ telling you that if you come near her again, then this school is going to have one less Mudblood polluting the system."

Pansy half-expected a punch to be thrown, and it appeared that Draco did, too. His hand was hovering over his pocket in a way that suggested his wand was hidden within the folds.

But Dean only closed his eyes, giving off the impression that he was counting within his head. He approached Pansy and gave her an entreating look. "You haven't talked to me in two weeks, and now this? What's going on?"

Pansy felt the weight of their combined stares, and backed away slowly from Dean. "I'm sorry," she said. She wasn't sure if she was apologizing for Draco or for leading Dean on. Maybe both.

Dean's expression darkened.

"This is all in the spirit of well-meaning advice," Draco said cheerfully. "Take it or leave it. Frankly, I'd take it."

"Shove it up your arse, Malfoy," Dean snapped. He turned back to Pansy. "When you're ready to talk to me _yourself_, then you can come and find me. I'm done talking to the puppet-master."

Pansy flinched at the comparison, but she didn't open her mouth to stop him from leaving. She shut her eyes against the sound of the door slamming. Another loaded silence permeated the room in his wake.

With Dean gone, Pansy allowed herself to sink into one of the desks, wishing that she could sink right through the floors and into the muck beneath the school. That was as low as she felt at that moment. She rested her elbows on the desk and buried her face in her hands. "I can't believe you just did that," she muttered.

Looking unconcerned, Draco pulled a file out of his pocket and began working on his nails. "Let's just hope that he has the sense not to tell anyone about you or this. It's embarrassing enough."

Pansy's head immediately shot up at that. "What did you say?"

"The absolute last thing we need right now is for one of Potter's Mudblood lackeys to be going around bragging that he managed to get his hand up the skirt of the girl everyone thinks is my girlfriend. How's that going to look?"

Pansy didn't remember standing or kicking the desk, but the pain that shot through her toes and the loud reverberations that echoed within the room stood as testament to the fact. "Fuck," she wheezed through grit teeth, collapsing back into the chair. She brought her foot up over her knee so that she could rub at her soar toes. Now, wasn't this familiar? Except that Thomas wasn't here to caress the pain away this time, thanks to—

"Careful," Draco said flatly and unnecessarily. He hadn't bothered to look up from his nails.

Pansy turned the force of all her anger onto the very face of her self-loathing. "How _dare_ you," she seethed. He was embarrassed of _her_? He had the nerve when he had _her_ all shades or mortified on a recurring basis? Whether it was his ridiculous obsession born of a jilted friendship with Harry Potter, his compulsive promiscuity, his unabashed racism, or with the completely gauche deportment that he inherited from his parents? God, his _parents_! How about his ice queen of a mother or his ex-con father, who was only out of prison due to having bribed his way through the system? Did she even want to start going back through the generations? If you really wanted to get into embarrassing behavior, then you could write a novel on the Blacks.

Pansy didn't care if her family was still considered _noveau-riche_. Frankly, it seemed preferable to partaking of the baggage that the Malfoys sported.

_Why_ did she want to marry into this family again?

"You are never pulling something like this again," she told him. "I don't care how embarrassed you are. What you just did crossed so many lines that I couldn't even begin to count them all."

"_I just did what had to be done_," he responded in a sarcastic, singsong voice. "Isn't that what you told me after you handled Raquel?"

Pansy didn't appreciate having her own words thrown back at her. "No, you're trying to put me back in my place. Tell me that this was anything more than you asserting control of what you perceive as your territory, and I'll call you a goddamn liar."

"Then we really are twin souls," he said mockingly, holding a hand to his heart.

"And thank you for _that_, Mr. Honesty!" she cried in frustration. "Because you've _never_ lied to me, right?"

"I haven't lied!"

She gave a bitter laugh. "Sorry, my mistake. You'd have to actually be capable of making a commitment before you could officially fail to deliver, right?"

Draco's jaw visibly tightened, and he was suddenly looming over her. Pansy glared defiantly up at him. "What have I been doing, but running myself ragged trying to make everything perfect for this bloody _ritual_ if I don't know about commitment?"

She was getting really sick of him standing over her. Pansy leapt up, and her palms connected with his chest as she shoved him back. "What _have_ you been doing? Does Theodore at least know what's happening? Because I haven't heard a word about any specially appointed tasks since that night. But none of that's even relevant, because that's _not_ the commitment we're talking about!" She couldn't help the hysterical note that entered her voice. Why was he so impossible?

He stilled, and Pansy felt herself shrinking beneath his gaze. She wanted to take the words back. She hadn't meant to make this about _that_. She turned away from him so that she could focus on regaining her bearings. One traumatic conversation at a time.

She felt him come up on her from behind. "If that's not the commitment to which you're insinuating," he said softly, "then _what_, Pansy? _What_ do you want from me?"

Did he really want her to say it aloud? Would it even make a difference? She knew what she wanted: for Draco to stop playing paramour to half the school. If she could only get him to see how happy she could make him if he would just let her… But this wasn't the time for that conversation, and Pansy shrank away from the direct confrontation. She told herself it had nothing to do with the strange fear-like sensation that clenched her gut.

What she actually said was, "I want you to trust me."

His gray eyes darkened, and there was an ephemeral glimmer of _something_ before they became entirely opaque. Draco's smile was brittle. "Oh, I'm sure my trust is really your top priority these days."

Pansy ignored the bait and plowed ahead with, "Why won't you tell me what we're going to be doing? What's with all the secrecy? Don't you trust me or are you just going to conveniently forget to invite me when the actual task is performed?"

"Right now," he said warningly, "I'm considering it. And you have got some blazing gall to ask me about trusting you _now_."

"So, that's it, then? I stop towing the line and you're done with me?"

Draco groaned. "Will you please stop being so melodramatic?"

"Melodramatic? Who's the guy that just threatened Dean Thomas to stay away from me _or else_?"

"I wasn't being melodramatic," he said edgily. "He better stay away."

"Or what?" she challenged. "What will you do to him? No, scratch that. What _are_ you going to do to _me_? Because I'm going to take a leaf out of your book, and I'm not going to let you dictate to me what I can or can't do, Draco."

"Wow. Maybe Raquel should have given that little speech when you were cowing her in front of everyone at our party."

"We're not talking about her!" Pansy didn't give a fig about Raquel. "This is about you and me."

"No." Draco pushed away from the desk and moved toward her. She instinctively began backing away, but he caught hold of her arm and tugged her into him so that their bodies were pressed together. "This is about so much more than you and me. This is about your friends, your family, and—"

"—the future of the wizarding world," she finished for him. She gaze a disbelieving laugh. "I can't believe you're giving me the pamphlet speech! Like I don't _know_? Like I haven't parroted it myself a thousand times?"

"_Parroted_? Christ, what is _wrong_ with you?" he cried. "I don't even understand how you could have gotten yourself into this situation. He's a _Mudblood_, Pansy, and you let him _touch_ you!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" she yelled back. "All that's happened is what you saw. It was a mistake, and it's not going to happen again."

"I don't _believe_ you. You don't just end up in a situation like that! It doesn't just _happen_."

"_You_ do," she said, feeling that residual sadness seeping out. "All the time."

"That's not how you work. Pansy, you _never_ date."

"No, I don't," she said bitterly. "So, don't you think I'm overdue?"

"Not with him," he said sternly.

"Too bad," she shot back, "It's not for you to say." She spoke slowly and deliberately to enunciate her words: "You seem to have somehow forgotten, but I am _not_ your property, and I am _not_ below you." Pansy rolled back on her heels, feeling vaguely proud and feminist for verbally reasserting her autonomy. Draco's expression should have warned her that his next words would eviscerate the sentiment.

"I thought that was where you wanted to be," he murmured, all smug lips and mean glint in his eye.

Pansy drew back, stung. "_Fuck_ you," she managed in a rush of released air from her lungs.

She sprang around and headed for the door, not longer willing to tolerate this conversation or the present company. She had just yanked the door open when Draco's hand came over her shoulder and slammed it shut again. His body was immediately pressing her against the cool wood, and Pansy yelped in protest.

"We are _not_ done," he breathed across the nape of her neck.

Pansy hated herself for the shiver that ran down her spine. "On the contrary," she growled. A lock of her hair was caught between Draco's hand and the door. She tried to move her head, and a sharp pain went up her scalp. "We are _more_ than done. Get off."

"No."

Pansy began struggling and hissing like a wet cat, and Draco gripped her hips and roughly pulled her back against him and then pitched them both forward so that she was stuck in place, pressed against the door with him plastered to her back. She jerked and cursed at him, but Pansy could feel him silently laughing at her from the reverberations of his chest against her back. She had a brief worry that her skirt was riding up in the back from the way that he was pressed against her. She tried to kick her feet against his ankles, but he swiftly trapped her feet between his own.

She could only keep up her fruitless struggle for so long. Eventually she had no choice. She had to give up. Panting from the angry exertion, she slumped in his arms and stared sullenly at the floor. This was beyond humiliating.

"I hate you," she grumbled, and for once, she actually felt like she could mean it.

In an act of complete patronization, Draco kissed the top of her head. "I know."

They stood like that, back-to-front, for what felt like forever, just breathing and marinating in their over-warm, shared space. The scent of the door filled her nostrils, mixed in with the aroma of him. Pansy wanted to cry, she was so angry and confused. This wasn't fair. Why couldn't he have just let her walk out the door?

"You can let go now," she said dejectedly. She wasn't going anywhere. If Draco wanted to finish this, then they would finish it.

He grunted against her hair, but didn't release her from his stranglehold. She sighed. From this close, she could see that the door actually had some intricate pattern etched into the wood. It was so faded that she could barely make it out. Some insect buzzed near her ear. She couldn't brush it away, but she didn't really feel inclined to either. The energy had just been completely sucked out of her, leaving her feeling lethargic.

"Wednesday night," Draco said abruptly. She didn't say anything, so he continued with, "That's when Filch helps himself to a nightcap."

Pansy frowned in confusion. What did Filch have to do with—?

"He usually stumbles out into the Entrance Hall about midnight, ranting to the portraits. Mrs. Norris will likely be right behind him. He'll pass out within ten minutes. Then, give or take an hour or so, the house elves will come and drag his sorry arse off. Prior to all of this, there's about two hours of prefect rounds."

He finally paused, and Pansy craned her neck around to look up at him. "I don't understand," she admitted.

"You wanted to be confided in," he said, expression unreadable.

"Yes…" she said uncertainly.

"So, I'm telling you my half of the plan that my father has just communicated to me via missive."

Pansy gaped at him, feeling like someone had just doused her with cold water. This was really happening. Draco was getting messages from the Dark Lord through his father.

"Now are you listening?"

"Filch inebriated. Prefect rounds," she said breathlessly. "Got it. Go on."

He nodded, and his cheek rubbed against hers with the movement. "_He_ wants this done Thursday night. That's in four days. The best opportunity we're going to get is Wednesday night. It's cutting it close, but that's our window. Wednesday means that the prefects with the patrol route that includes the Entrance Hall will be Terry Boot and Susan Bones. Fortunately for us, they happen to despise one another. They only take half the time to finish their rounds, which leaves us with an hour gap."

Her head was spinning. "Okay. What happens then?"

Draco released her hips and clutched her arms instead. The pressure from his fingers felt like bear traps, and she shifted uncomfortably in his hold. She wanted to tell him that he was hurting her, but that seemed so very insignificant in the face of what he was telling her.

"During that gap, we're going to help Millicent get into Snape's potion stores."

"Snape? How are we—?"

"He usually joins Filch for the nightcap. We're going to have that gap of time after prefect rounds and while they're tipping the bottle."

Pansy processed that as well as she could with her brain buzzing the way that it was. "Okay. So, what are we going to do with these things from his stores?"

Draco's voice lowered to a raspy whisper against her ear. "What I tell you now stays between us, Pansy. _Just_ us. I don't want you to tell _anyone_ about this. Not Blaise. Not Millicent. Not Theodore. No one."

She didn't know why he would think that she'd feel compelled to confide anything to them, but she nodded anyway. "Tell me."

Draco released this breath that he must have been holding and the air ruffled her hair. The pressure from his hands fell from her arms, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. She felt something quiver inside her when his body seemed to sag against her. Her heart was pounding and the fear was thick, but she tried to hold him back as best she could in their current position. There was something so much bigger than the both of them on the horizon, and everything that came before was suddenly small and far away.

"Tell me," she repeated.

He gave an odd, little laugh. "Oh, you're going to love this." His amused tone was belied by the way that his arms tightened around her.

Pansy was so off-kilter that she felt suspended in a state of vertigo. She was going to faint if he didn't get to it soon. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripped Draco's arms as tightly as she could, and said, "_Tell_ me."

He did.

"We're raising the dead."

* * *

_Cedric Diggory: June 24, 1995._

_Triwizard Champion and True Hero._

Pansy stared at the plaque and tried not to shudder.

She didn't know when the plaque had gone up, since she didn't exactly spend her free time hanging out in the trophy room. She imagined that the only people aware of this plaque were the ones responsible for it and ambitious up-starts that wasted time in here drooling after other people's accolades…

… which explained how Draco had known to place her here. Pansy's mouth pressed into a grim line. She didn't believe that it was a coincidence that she was stuck staring at a memorial to a boy that had been foolish enough to defy the Dark Lord. So much for trust, eh?

Technically, Draco had told her to keep a lookout from this corridor, but he must have known that she would wander into the trophy niche. She was stationed right beside it, and there wasn't even a door. She was likely to get bored just standing in the dark corridor, staring at her own shoes, wasn't she? Draco was so transparent.

Disgusted with him, she returned to her post. Aside from being dark, the corridor was also freezing and smelling vaguely of mildew. The long-sleeved shirt and pants she had chosen to wear beneath her cloak weren't proving as useful as she had thought they would. She rubbed at her arms, trying to get the circulation back into her limbs. Hmn. Hanging out in dark places under suspicious circumstances… Pansy was beginning to see a recurring pattern in her routine.

It hadn't escaped her notice that Draco had placed her at the furthest possible point from where Millicent was going to be working. It frustrated her, and not because she necessarily wanted to be more involved, but because she took it as another sign that she was still under suspicion. She didn't think it would do any good to remind him that all she had done was kiss a boy. She hadn't exactly run off for a pow-wow with Potter.

Then again, maybe Draco was just being cautious, because Pansy had been wandering around in what felt like a daze ever since he had told her what they were expected to do. Thinking about it made her shudder, and she quickly shoved thoughts of it away. It didn't matter what would come later. She just had to get through tonight…

She rolled the small coin between her fingers. Draco had gotten the idea to enchant coins from Harry Potter's ridiculous faction during fifth year. All she had to do was use hers to signal the others when or if someone was coming from her direction.

Pansy wasn't exactly paying attention, so when a voice actually spoke beside her, she screamed and leapt away. The coin fell from her fingers and clanged loudly across the floor. Terror washed through her when a cold hand gripped her wrist and prevented her from escaping. She jerked against the hold, and her hood fell back.

"Parkinson?" said an incredulous voice.

She froze. That voice… Her panicked eyes skirted everywhere but directly at him. "Um, Boot?"

"Yeah." He lowered his own hood and released her arm. Piercing eyes regarded her from behind over-long curly hair.

"Are you completely off your rock?" she hissed, looking around for the coin. "What the hell are you doing lurking around in the shadows with your hood up?"

Boot snorted. "I'm on my _rounds_, Parkinson. What are _you_ doing lurking around in the shadows with your hood up? After _curfew_?" he added.

Rounds? Oh, bloody hell. "Where's Bones?"

Boot was starting to look increasingly suspicious. "Hospital Wing. She had an accident in Potions this afternoon."

"Of course she did," Pansy muttered to herself. No Bones meant that Boot had no reason to purposely rush through his rounds. Damn Draco for being an overconfident twit. God, he was going to _kill_ her.

"What?"

"I said that's too bad," she said.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Boot demanded, suddenly reminding Pansy of a nanny she used to have.

What was the excuse she was supposed to use in case she got caught? What… was… it…? Oh! "Detention!" she squeaked.

His eyebrows shot up. "Detention? This late?"

"That's right," she said, her eyes still skimming the floor for the enchanted coin. "Um, with Hagrid."

"Why would Hagrid schedule your detention for so late at night?" he asked.

"Oh, you know how unorthodox he is." Something gold caught the corner of her eye and she dove for it. Boot watched her with wide eyes as she triumphantly held the coin up. "Err, trinket," she explained. She stood and shoved it deep into her pocket where Boot couldn't see her using it to signal the others. "I'm picking some plant that... um, has to be picked at night. As for why this late, I'd have to say that the beast has something of a vindictive streak."

Boot scowled at her. "I can't imagine why. You only helped to get him sacked from his teaching post."

"Yeah," she sighed, feeling another nostalgic twinge at the memory of Dolores Umbridge. She wondered who'd have to be bribed to get her back as Headmistress. Pansy would be willing to front the bill. Watching Potter walk around again in a constant snit like he had fifth year would be worth it.

Ah, well. There was no point in dwelling in the past when there were more immediate things to concern her— like the fact that Boot seemed to be buying her excuse.

"He should be sacked again for this," she added, being sure to pout. "Do you know that he actually expected me to find those plants in the Forbidden Forest? Draco almost died when that great oaf sent him in there first year."

Oddly enough, Boot didn't seem impressed. "And what a great loss that would have been," he said dryly.

Pansy took a step backward. "Well," she said, clapping her hands together, "best to get in a quick shower and then hop into bed. Early day tomorrow." She turned away from him and the false levity evaporated from her face. _Just let me go, Boot, _she willed silently_. Two more steps around this corner, and I'll be_—

"Wait."

—_gone_.

She cursed inwardly and turned back to him, trying to look bored. "Yes?"

"Could I talk to you for a second?" he said, taking a step forward.

"Bad time," she said immediately. "I need to shower." She hoped that it was too dark for him to realize that she was completely sans any dirt or other evidence of having been digging around outside.

"I just need a moment," he said stubbornly, looking about as happy about it as Pansy did.

"Still a bad time."

He frowned. "It doesn't seem like a bad time."

She scowled at him. "How would you know if this was a good or bad time for me, Boot?"

He shrugged, conceding the point. "Look, I just wanted to… to… _apologize_ for the way that I acted at Art Club." The words clearly left a bad taste in his mouth, judging by his sour expression. She had to wonder why he had even bothered.

"You're forgiven," she said automatically. "I have to go now."

"And about Dean—"

"Really, Boot, if it's all the same to you, we'll skip that conversation and I'll be on my way," she said, "because I'm already bored."

The visibly self-satisfied expression gained from overcoming his own personal hurdle dissolved, and Boot's expression hardened. "Fair enough. I'm only here as a favor to Dean. He's been moping around since you started avoiding him."

Pansy said nothing. She wasn't going to discuss Dean with anyone ever again. Boot least of all.

He studied her face for a reaction, and when he received none, his mouth curved into a smile of disbelief. "You really don't care, do you?"

Pansy mimed a yawn. "If that's all, Boot," she said dispassionately, "then I'm sure that somewhere there's someone drawing in one of the library books. Maybe you should go see to that."

"Speaking of the library," he said, "I heard about you and Malfoy making a spectacle of yourselves."

That got Pansy's attention, and she gave him a sharp look. If someone had overheard them in the library…

"If sitting and reading really is all it takes to get you excited, then I don't envy the future Mrs. Boot."

He scoffed at that. "I'm all for a well-chosen euphemism, but I think _sitting_ and _reading_ is taking it a bit far."

"I don't care if we were shagging ourselves rotten on Madame Pince's desk. I really shouldn't have to vocalize that it's none of _your_ business. Spread stories about someone else at your meetings of the Ravenclaw sewing circle."

"Well, I do admit that Slytherins behaving appalling is hardly news, but you didn't have to drag Dean into it."

"Far be it for me to take the fantasy away from you, but I don't recall Thomas ever participating in any sitting _or_ reading with Malfoy and I. Frankly, I don't think Malfoy's sexuality could withstand such an impact. Nonetheless, do feel free to let your imagination run if you like."

"You don't fool me, Parkinson," he said. "I don't know what you've been feeding Dean, but let me tell you that there isn't a Ravenclaw in my year that doesn't know what went down between Malfoy, Turpin, and Brocklehurst."

"I guess, when you get down to it, Ravenclaw girls really aren't much better than your basic liquored-up Hufflepuff slag, eh?"

"You were using Dean to get back at Malfoy for what he did behind your back," he said, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Pansy briefly considered just hexing him and running away. Sure, she would lose points for it later, but that hardly seemed like a deterrent at the moment. "For a Ravenclaw, you are proving to be extraordinarily stupid, Boot."

"There are a lot of things that I could say about you, Parkinson," he said darkly. "Dean may be naïve, but I know that you and yours were celebrating about what happened to William and Moira. Hell, you were probably _involved_."

Pansy frowned at him. "Who?"

Boot managed to convey both incredulity and horror with seeming ease. "The _Vestrys_, Parkinson!"

"Oh, _them_." She smiled humorlessly at him. "Well, then I must be _very_ industrious indeed if I managed to sneak out of the school unnoticed, go all the way to London, commit a complex double-murder, and then be back in time to finish my homework."

"I didn't say you were _directly_ involved."

Pansy wondered what Boot would say if someone asked _him_ to take responsibility for everything his parents had ever done. Maybe she'd find out.

_Memo to self: Ask Mother for Dirt on the Boot Family. _

"I really hate to be repetitive, but I'm critically bored by this conversation. The Vestrys are old news, and you're making base accusations. Surely you must have something better to do? No? Well, as it is, I _really_ don't have time for this."

Boot squeezed the ridge of his nose, his patience clearly at its end. "You know what? I was going to ask you to come back to Art Club for another go, but I think the experience could actually kill me."

"Oh, is that what you were getting at with the forced apology and then the unfounded, borderline-offensive accusations? Well, I like your approach method. Very consumer-friendly. However, next time you could try an opening that skips all the pleasantries and just goes straight to the part where you spit in my face. I read somewhere that the key to a good speech is concision."

Boot blinked at her. "Christ. Dean never mentioned how long-winded you are."

She shrugged. "Some insults take longer than others."

"I guess."

"Um, Boot?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you still here?"

Boot seemed to slump in on himself. Pansy was alarmed when he rubbed at his eyes and she thought she caught a glimpse of wetness. She felt a flare of panic. Was there anything more awkward than when a man cried? He wouldn't, would he? What would she do with an overly emotional Ravenclaw? _Run_, she supposed. _Millicent be damned._ To prevent this, it was time for some sensitive handling.

"You're not crying, are you?" she blurted out, one foot extended in preparation for running away.

Boot looked up at her in surprise. "What? No!"

"Okay," she said skeptically.

"Look, I _know_ that I'm being… Well, _unfair_, I guess. I know, okay? It's just… The Vestrys were like second parents to me. Moira and my mother went to school here together. They were roommates."

Pansy could feel her body gradually stiffening as he spoke, and she had a sudden impulse to hit him with a particularly powerful silencing spell. She didn't want to hear any of this.

"Will was the first one to teach me how to play Quidditch. For the love of—" His face screwed up and his voice choked off. "Their son is only _five_!"

_Enough_. Her voice was cold enough to freeze the now very visible moisture around his eyes. "Boot, this is all really fascinating and all, this intimate glimpse into your childhood. However, I do have a date with a bar of soap."

Boot's face lost some of its color, and he spat at her, "Be sure to scrub real hard."

With that, he turned and stalked away. Pansy let out a breath of relief. She didn't need for Boot to be guilting her right then, and if he thought that she was ever coming back to their stupid Art Club, then he was crazier than Dean. Never happening.

She turned to go and retrieve her housemates and bumped directly into Draco's chest. "Oomf!" He caught her before she could fall over. "Watch it!"

"Thanks so much for your concern," she said, looking over her shoulder to make sure that Boot wasn't still lurking behind her.

"I'd have more concern for Boot," Blaise said, coming around Draco's side. "You should have let him cry, Parkinson."

"You were listening?" she said sharply. They must have been waiting in the shadows. But for how long?

"We only heard the end," Draco said. His face told her that he suspected she had been discussing Dean, but they hadn't heard any of it. That was good. If Blaise found out about Dean, then it would be the end of her. "Why? Was there something we should have heard?"

Pansy glared at him and moved aside for her housemates. "How'd it go?"

"Splendidly," Draco said, clapping Millicent on the shoulder. Bulstrode looked drawn and pale, but that was nothing new. Her eyes were wide and blinking. She was clutching a bag in her hands like it was something sacred.

"So it seems," Pansy said.

Draco laughed and pried the bag out of Millicent's fingers. He put his arm around her broad shoulders and led her down the corridor. As they passed, Pansy heard him say to her, "You've done us proud, Millicent."

Pansy allowed herself one shiver, and then she followed after them.

* * *

Thursday morning and afternoon passed by in a haze. 

Pansy went to class. She turned in her homework. She avoided Dean and remained at Draco's side, pretending not to see Dean's hurt frustration. She couldn't afford to care about that when they were mere hours away from… from… She couldn't even think it. Instead, she just clutched Draco's hand and focused on the warm palm in hers. If she could just focus on that, then she could get through this. All of it.

As the hours of the evening passed by with unearthly speed, Pansy lay on her bed and stared at its ceiling. Her fingers rhythmically clenched and unclenched the bedding beneath her fingers. Her roommates were all noticeably silent. Millicent was huddled in on herself on the floor beside her bed. Pansy hadn't spared her or any of them a glance in hours.

She was focusing on listening to her own heartbeat when Millicent broke the silence.

"I'm sorry."

"What was that, Bulstrode?" Raquel asked from her own bed. She was still in her clothes, just as the rest of them were.

Millicent's eyes were wide and fearful. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

Pansy slowly turned her head and stared at her. Even from across the room, she could see that Bulstrode was shaking. She began to feel a shadow of trepidation creeping up on the fog she had immersed her brain in. "What have you done?" she whispered.

"Yes, what _have_ you done?" Blaise asked threateningly. She was already advancing on her.

Millicent's shaking increased, and her words came out in a rush. "I didn't get all of the things on the list."

The fog evaporated. It was replaced by a horrible buzzing, and Pansy sat up abruptly. "What?"

There was a low gasp from Alyssa. Blaise had turned white. She turned and stared at Pansy in dismay. "_What_?"

Millicent looked absolutely miserable. "I didn't get all of the stuff from Snape's stores."

Pansy stood and moved so that she was standing above her. "No," she said in a contained voice, "I couldn't have heard that right, because I thought you just said that you didn't get the extremely crucial ingredients that we all put ourselves on the line to help you get. The things that you _said_ you got."

"The things that were in the bag that you were carrying," Raquel said dangerously from beside Pansy's elbow. She was suddenly aware that they were all crowding behind her, glaring down at their roommate.

"I panicked!" Millicent cried.

Pansy reached down and yanked Millicent to her feet with strength from a reserve she hadn't even known herself to have. "You _panicked_?" she yelled. "We did all of the work for you. All you had to do was walk into the room and pick some things up, and you _panicked_?"

"I'm sorry!" she cried again.

Pansy shook her as hard as she could, her own panic manifesting itself. "Why did you _say_ that you'd gotten them? Why did you _lie_?"

"I was afraid!"

"You stupid cow!" Blaise shouted. "Do you have any idea how afraid you're _going_ to be?"

Once the Dark Lord found out that they had failed… God. Pansy was going to throw up. She shoved her away. Millicent whimpered and slumped back down to the floor.

"What have you done?" Alyssa said in a small voice. She put a hand over her own mouth like she might cry.

"And you waited until _now_ to tell us this," Raquel said darkly. "This bloody _perfect_."

"What are we going to do?" Alyssa asked her, clutching Pansy's arm. "What are we going to _do_? Should I go get Draco?"

They all looked to her, waiting. Millicent was making suspiciously wet noises from the floor.

Pansy pushed Alyssa away from her and turned away from them. "No. Just… Just shut up." She pressed her palms against her eye sockets and tried to think. She could send Millicent off to confess her folly to Draco, but she didn't know where he was. He had been conspicuously absent since lunch. She doubted very much that he would still be in his room. This was so like him to disappear right when he was needed most. She could have killed him.

God, Draco _deserved_ this. The Dark Lord had given this task directly to them. They couldn't _afford_ to mess this up. Draco was a bloody fool to have given Millicent this task. _Millicent_, of all people. What had he been thinking?

_Okay, focus, Parkinson_, she told herself. What to do? What to do?

Pansy's easel suddenly caught her eye. Her latest project was sitting on it. It was mostly unfinished, but she had hoped to finish it by next week. Something clicked in her brain, and she flew over to her bureau and practically ripped the first drawer out of its socket. She dumped the contents onto her bed without thought and rummaged for the set of keys she knew to be within the mess.

"What are you doing?" Raquel demanded.

"Saving us," she snapped. Once she had located the keys, she hastily dropped to her knees and reached beneath her bed for her trunk. Her roommates clustered around her to watch as she stuck the appropriate key into the fourth lock from the right. She would have to remember to change her hiding places and choice of lock later after this was all over with.

_If. _

"You're going to paint? _Now_?" Blaise cried.

"No," she said, thrusting a bottle of paint into her hands. "_We_ are."

"You've completely lost it!"

"Either shut up or help me." Pansy handed a bottle to Raquel. To say Alyssa, she said, "Get me a bag."

They looked confused and frightened, but they followed orders well enough. "Just fill in the blank spots," she said, demonstrating by squirting onto the partially finished canvas.

Raquel and Blaise exchanged looks, but they soon followed suite. Blaise was muttering to herself about Pansy's sanity, but she also began to cover the places that Pansy hadn't yet got to.

It only took a few moments, and then Pansy told them all to step back. She blasted the soaking canvas with a drying spell. She grabbed it up into her arms and turned to address them all.

"Did you find a bag?" she asked Alyssa. The girl nodded and held up a medium sized cloth handbag. It would have to do.

"Give it to Blaise."

Alyssa did so, and Pansy nodded. "We're going to fix this," she said. She turned to address just Raquel and Alyssa. "I need you two to go over to the boy's dorm. Tell them what's happening and to meet us in that corridor nearest to the Entrance Hall." She gave Millicent a disdainful look. "Bulstrode, you're coming with me. You, too, Blaise."

No one moved, and Pansy growled in frustration. "Go now! Don't get caught. Just get them there as soon as possible."

Alyssa and Raquel scurried out of the room. "Come on," she said to the remaining girls as she pulled on a coat. "Bulstrode, get off your arse _now_! Where's the list of the things that Draco gave you? Please tell me that you still have it."

Millicent nodded. She got up and retrieved it from inside one of her drawers.

"Brilliant. Let's go."

The two girls followed Pansy out the door, down the steps, and out of the common room. Then, she forced them to run to keep up. Pansy needed this to be fixed as soon as possible, and there wasn't a moment to be spared when Draco had instructed them to be outside in a matter of minutes.

She stopped them a few doors down from Snape's personal rooms. She was panting from exertion, but she forced the words out. "Give me the bag." Blaise handed it over, and Pansy rolled it up and stuffed it into her coat pocket. "Okay, Blaise, I need for you to go down that way and to hide behind the statue of the enormous Minotaur. Draco has all of the enchanted coins, so you're going to have to settle for good old-fashioned sabotage if you see anyone— Professor or otherwise— coming down this way. Snape's one thing, but I can't balance two teachers at once. There isn't time."

"Sabotage? You're going to get me expelled!"

"_Blaise_!"

"_Fine_!" She ran off down the corridor and disappeared into the darkness.

"Bulstrode, give me the list," she said. Millicent handed it over, and Pansy stuffed it inside her spare pocket.

Pansy set down her canvas and grabbed Millicent by the shoulders to make sure that she was paying attention. "You're going to wait for me just over there." She pointed to an adjacent corridor. "Right around that corner."

"What if someone comes?" Millicent said worriedly.

"Then I have the same advice for you as I just gave Blaise. Hex the life out of them."

Millicent's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

Her patience with Millicent Bulstrode was long gone, and she took the opportunity to shake her again. "Do I look like I'm kidding, Bulstrode? This is all your fault, and the least you can do is hex someone if it's necessary now."

Looking shamed, Millicent fled to her designated spot. Pansy watched her go and then took a huge, fortifying breath. Then, she picked up the canvas and moved to the appropriate door. She knocked before she could lose her nerve.

When Snape opened the door, he was met with a bright smile from Pansy. "Hi!" she chirped. "Are you busy?"

Snape frowned down at her. "Yes. If you'll recall, your class just experienced a quiz due to the outrageous lack of preparation you exhibited." He gave her a pointed look. "I trust that when I get to your quiz I will receive a much-needed respite from the otherwise endless terrain of failures?"

Pansy laughed nervously. "Right… Um, I'm sure that you'd love to take a break from grading so that you could take a look at my painting?" she said hopefully.

Snape glanced at the canvas in her arms, seeming to consider. "Well, I suppose I could spare a moment for that," he conceded. "Although, why you felt compelled to impose on me this late—"

"Excited!" she blurted out. He stared at her, and she realized that she hadn't actually formed a sentence. "I was. Err, I _was_ too excited to wait."

Cringing at his puzzled expression, Pansy hurried past him into the room. He closed the door after her and followed her over to where she had set up her canvas on his available easel. At his approach, she immediately backed away under the pretense of wanting to give him space.

"Miss Parkinson, I am aware of the time," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Just as I am aware that it is way past your curfew."

"Oh… Well, I was just so excited to have it finished, and I wanted you to look at it. Forgive me?" she said, smiling coquettishly even though she knew that it would only annoy him.

Indeed, Snape's lip curled, but then he turned to inspect the work, and that was all that mattered. Pansy fidgeted for a moment, nerves and purpose warring with each other. She surreptitiously eyed his supply closet, which he had conveniently left open for her. A nearby cauldron was bubbling away, suggesting that she had interrupted more than quiz grading. It also explained why Snape had opted not to go with carpeting for his private rooms.

"Professor, you wouldn't happen to have any spare butterbeer laying around, would you? Like last time?"

Snape waved her off, still intensely staring at her "painting." Pansy hoped that meant that she had his tacit permission. She hurried over to his small kitchen and glanced back at him. He hadn't taken his eyes off the canvas. She reached up and pushed some of his glasses around in their cabinet.

Snape didn't look.

Pansy took another fortifying breath. Okay, this was as good a chance as any. Draco was going to owe her the best shag of her life for all of this. He owed her anyway.

Keeping her gaze trained on Snape, she edged towards the supply closet. As soon as she was close enough, she dashed inside. This was the riskiest part of her spur of the moment, makeshift plan. If Snape so much as glanced behind him and saw that she wasn't standing there, then this was all for nothing. Pansy pulled out the list and the bag from her pockets and did her best to read the labels on his shelves in the dim light cast by the cracked door. She glanced down at the list and thanked her lucky stars that Millicent had at least done some of the work for her and crossed out the things she had already gotten. There were only about four items still uncrossed. She also had to thank them for the fact that Snape had all of his ingredients already bottled and ready to drop directly into her bag.

It only took moments, but it felt like years before she was finally able to sneak back out of the supply closet with the bag hidden within her coat and beneath her arm.

Snape's back was still to her, and Pansy almost cried with relief. She approached him slowly. "You know, this was a bit late for me to have bothered you," she said. "I should come back tomorrow."

Snape snorted. "It's a bit late for that."

"Yes, but I could—"

He cut her off. "Although, you most definitely should not have disturbed me for _this_."

Pansy frowned. Granted, it wasn't a real painting, but Snape didn't know that. "What do you mean?" she demanded indignantly.

"I can see that you were trying to experiment in your style, but '_disgusting mess'_ doesn't serve you well," he said unkindly.

Pansy's mouth fell open. "Well, I never—"

"No, and you never should again." He suddenly seemed to realize that her arms were empty. "Weren't you going to get a drink?"

"Not thirsty after all. What do you mean by talking about my work like that? It's _existential_!"

"It's a waste of my time," he said, "and I never thought I'd have to say that to you, Miss Parkinson." He shook his head disgustedly.

She wanted to continue arguing with him, but she suddenly realized that she was wasting time arguing with Snape over a fake painting.

"All right," she said stiffly. "I'm sorry that I wasted your time." She brushed past him and gripped the canvas with her free hand that wasn't attached to the arm holding the bag in place.

Snape sighed and rubbed at his nose. "It's late, Miss Parkinson. Maybe if you came back tomorrow, we could discuss what you were trying to accomplish with this… _experiment_." He said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, and Pansy huffed at the slight.

"Yes, I'll do that," she said.

Snape crossed the room and opened the door for her. "Now, to _bed_, Miss Parkinson. I don't want to have to remind you of your curfew again."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as the door had closed, Pansy rushed over to where Millicent was waiting for her. "Bulstrode!"

Millicent jumped at the sound of her voice. "You did it?" She sounded surprised.

"Of course," she said with a confidence belied by her shaking hands. She dropped the canvas and pulled the bag out from under her coat. "Here. Take this to Draco and the others. They should be in that corridor nearest the Entrance Hall by now. Tell him that Blaise and I will meet the lot of you out in the Forbidden Forest."

Millicent hesitated. "Pansy—"

"Bulstrode, _go_!"

The other girl flinched, but she quickly hurried past her in the direction of the Entrance Hall. Pansy doubled back past Snape's rooms and went to retrieve Blaise. She found her behind the statue.

"Any problems?" she asked.

Blaise shook her head. "No one came by. Did you get the stuff?"

"Yeah. Come on. Let's get outside before we completely run out of luck and all of this goes straight to hell."

Blaise snorted in agreement, and they both took off. They stuck to the shadows and took the roundabout way through the castle, not wanting to be caught by any ghosts, professors, or prefects. Once they were outside, they began to run until they had crossed the grounds and entered the forest. Pansy realized with dismay that she had forgotten her wand in the rush to cover Bulstrode's mess, but Blaise pulled hers out, and her _Lumos_ spell lit their way to the clearing.

"What took you so long?" Theodore immediately demanded.

Pansy and Blaise gave him death glares as they struggled to catch their collective breaths.

"Where's Bulstrode?" Alyssa asked.

Pansy stared at her. "She's not here?" True enough, a glance around the group revealed that the large girl was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?"

"We thought she was with you," Theodore said, coming closer to stare down at her.

A sick feeling gripped her stomach. She looked at Draco helplessly. He was leaning against a tree at the edge of the group, with his face partially obscured in darkness. "You at least got the things, didn't you?"

"Oh, we got them," Draco said, holding up the bag. "But Bulstrode said that you told her to come back and find you after she delivered the stuff."

Pansy frowned. "What? I never… Why would I tell her to do that?"

Draco shrugged. "How were we supposed to know what your plan was?" He seemed remarkably unconcerned about it all.

"The idiot," Raquel spat.

Pansy kept glancing around as if Bulstrode might appear if she looked hard enough. "I told her to come out here with you. What do we do?" She didn't think her nerves could handle a search through the castle for the erstwhile member of their group. She couldn't believe that Millicent could have misheard her so badly.

Draco shrugged. "We'll just have to do this without her."

"I thought she was an important part of this," Alyssa said dubiously.

"She's already served her part. Well," he said sneeringly, "at least she was supposed to have."

"Remind me to murder her later," Blaise muttered.

"Forget about Bulstrode," Raquel snapped. "Let's just do this thing."

"Do we get to find out what we're doing now?" Crabbe asked hopefully.

Draco patted his shoulder and smiled. "Yes."

"Don't think I didn't notice how you waited until the very last moment to tell us," Blaise said, glaring at him. "I can't wait to hear your reasoning on that."

Draco didn't dignify that with a response. He moved to the center of the clearing with the bag and said, "This could take all night. I hope you all remembered your coats."

Actually, only the boys and Pansy had. She didn't offers hers, and neither did they to the shivering girls.

"Well, come on, then," Theodore said impatiently. "Let's open the bag and get started!"

"Yes, please do open the bag, Mr. Malfoy," said an unexpected voice.

Alyssa let out a small cry before her brother slapped a hand over her mouth, and Pansy sprang around to see her worst nightmare emerging from the shadows.

She felt her blood freeze. _Oh, please, no_. They had been so careful…

The headmaster stepped out of the darkness and into their clearing like some kind of portentous spectre. Behind him, two more shapes appeared and she quickly realized that it was Professor McGonagall and— God— _Snape_. Blaise was nearest them, and she stumbled back with an expression of stark horror on her face.

Pansy's vision began to go dark at the edges, and she had the sudden sensation that the earth had dropped out from under her feet. She was only vaguely aware that Raquel was clutching her arm hard enough to bruise.

Dumbledore was sans the infamous twinkle in his eye as he regarded them all. "I'm rather curious as to know what you have planned for all of the curious things that have gone missing from Professor Snape's stores."

_Oh, bloody hell_.

* * *

**TBC…**


	7. Don't Believe In Soft Solutions

**Disclaimer**: J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. own all Harry Potter related trademark. 

**Author's Note**: As always, a huge thanks goes to **sandundershoes** for her French translations. Without her, Draco and Pansy would be speaking Spanglish. Lastly, a very big thank you goes to **clinicallybored** for her constant encouragement.

**Warning**: There are elements through OotP that have been incorporated into FE, but there are still plenty of stubborn AU elements. We're not even going to talk about HBP.

**Forgivable Expectations**

**Chapter 7: Don't Believe in Soft Solutions**

"_Last night I had a revelation  
Somehow I have to make you pay  
It's all about manipulation  
And what it takes to get my way  
I don't believe in soft solutions  
No one makes a fool of me  
Without receiving retribution  
No one hurts me and goes free." _

— Red Delicious, "Bring You Down."

The chair in Dumbledore's office felt especially hard and unforgiving beneath her.

They had been sitting there in silence for what felt like hours. The passing time was pressing in on her even though it couldn't have been that long since they'd been herded inside. There was a bead of sweat gathering above her lower lip, and her palms were clammy. Pansy dug her nails into her armrests as a method of distraction, because she absolutely refused to fidget. She wouldn't give them that.

The silence of the room was heavy, and Pansy's mental voice reverberated so loudly throughout her brain that she might as well have been speaking aloud. She tried to silence her thoughts, but they only echoed louder. To her right, Theodore abruptly cleared his throat, and the sound grated so painfully on her ears that she had to grind her teeth to avoid striking out at him. Pansy caught Goyle's eye, and she felt his mutual panic span across the room. She had the sudden, crazy impulse to cross the half-circle and take his hand. Draco never should have led them into this. His bloody father—

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said finally, "I'm terribly sorry, but my memory isn't what it used to be. Would you please explain to me again what all of you were doing in the Forbidden Forest? I admit that I would be rather surprised if you told me that every one of you has missed my repeated announcements over the last seven years of the rules on curfews and boundaries."

"I already told you," Draco said somewhat edgily, "that it was all a joke."

Pansy tried to be casual about the big gulp of air that she was suddenly very much in need of. She couldn't afford to pass out just because her throat happened to be seizing up, but she wished that Draco wouldn't give such an attitude to the headmaster when all of their lives were hanging in the balance. Really, she should have known that it had all been too easy. There was no way that they would have pulled this off. It was a delusion.

Dumbledore nodded, seemingly to himself, and murmured, "You did say that." He reached down and pulled up the dark bag from where it had been resting beside his chair. Pansy's spine stiffened even further. Her heart still hadn't fully recovered from when it had ground to a horrible, gut-wrenching stop back in the clearing when Dumbledore had told Draco to open the bag. Her arm gave a twinge where she could still feel Alyssa's fingers from when they had dug painfully into her arm. The marks from her nails were probably still visible under her sleeve.

For his part, Dumbledore was acting far too serene for a man in his position of leverage. He was calmly lining up the contents of the bag along the edge of his desk. He took his time arranging them, keeping one bottle near him, while Professors Snape and McGonagall stood silently behind him. He summoned a glass from one of his shelves. It whizzed over Alyssa's shoulder— she flinched in surprise— and into his hand. Pansy felt a rush of resentment. How long had he been waiting for an opportunity like this?

Feeling trapped, she watched as Dumbledore poured some of the contents of the bottle nearest him into the glass. He eyed it curiously, and then held the glass under his nose. A cautious sniff made his eyebrows rise. Pansy was fairly certain that she could hear a collective intake of breath being drawn when he abruptly took a swallow. McGonagall's hand actually shot out as if to stop him, but she wasn't quick enough.

"_Albus_!"

But Dumbledore was smiling when he lowered the glass. "It's all right, Minerva. Would you like some butterbeer? Severus?"

"Oh, honestly!" McGonagall exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration. Snape merely sneered in response.

_Butterbeer_.

No spell ingredients. Just four bottles of butterbeer, all lined in a row on Dumbledore's desk.

Back in the clearing, Pansy had been positive that it was all over, and that they were dead. Irrationally, she was ready to scream in a fit of panic, _"Draco, don't open that bag! Whatever you do, don't open that bag!"_ So, imagine her surprise when Draco _did_ open the bag only to reveal bloody _butterbeer_ and nothing that she had just risked herself to get for him.

"Of course it is," Draco said flatly. "I bought it perfectly _legally_ on the last Hogsmeade weekend. I trust that there's no crime in that?"

No, no crime at all in _that_. Pansy didn't have to be looking at him to burn holes into his periphery. Pansy _couldn't_ look at Draco or else risk revealing... Well, she wasn't sure whether she feared revealing that she did or _didn't_ know anything about this. The questions in her mind buzzed like furious bees between her ears. How had this happened? Where were the supplies? What did Draco _do_? There hadn't been enough time to… And where the hell was _Bulstrode_? Were they even in Dumbledore's office, or was she really experiencing some feverish nightmare in the hospital wing?

"Of course not, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said. The smile had left his face. "However, I fail to see why you had it out in the Forbidden Forest, and why Ms. Bulstrode was led to believe that you were intending to perform dark magic therein."

Blaise let out a high-pitched giggle that seemed to expose more emotional instability than amusement. The sound grated on Pansy's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "He _told_ you," Blaise said. "It was supposed to be a _joke_."

Draco sent her a sharp look that clearly said, "_Don't help_." Of course, she ignored him. "It's not our fault that Bulstrode can't take a joke!"

Dumbledore didn't look particularly amused either. "So, your intention was to lure Ms. Bulstrode outside?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "_Yes_."

"To what purpose, Mr. Malfoy?"

"We fed Bulstrode a story to get her outside. Then, we were going to have ourselves a little _dark-magic-free_ party. Just a little stress-reliever after a long week. No big deal."

_Shut up, Draco. Just shut up._ He was deliberately provoking him, and it could only hurt them.

Dumbledore sighed. "And _why_, Mr. Malfoy, did you tell Ms. Bulstrode that she was going to be performing dark magic?"

That was a very good question. In fact, Pansy would have very much liked to know why he told _all_ of them that they were going to be performing dark magic when he was really planning to switch the spell ingredients for _bloody butterbeer_. She didn't think that she'd ever be able to look at the stuff ever again without feeling sick. Frankly, she didn't have that much faith in his transfiguration abilities, so where were the real supplies?

Draco merely shrugged. "It was a tasteless joke, I admit, but she really was too easy. It doesn't go any deeper than that."

Pansy wanted so badly to look at him, because she remembered Draco's expression when the teachers had arrived in the clearing. She remembered it _very_ well, and he had looked grim, but not surprised. No, not _surprised_ at all. She wanted to know what that meant. Where _was_ Bulstrode?

"Is that right, Ms. Parkinson?" Dumbledore asked, abruptly shifting his attention onto her. Her head shot up. "It was all a joke at Ms. Bulstrode's expense?"

Pansy felt their stares on her like hot pokers, and she sank a little under the weight of them. Her voice didn't seem to want to work, but she had to say something now, or else it would all be her fault. The compression was coming from both sides, and she _really_ wanted to disappear. "Yes," she croaked out. The lack of conviction behind her affirmation must have been apparent, because everyone continued to stare at her. She inwardly flinched at herself and tried for a much steadier voice. "It was a joke."

"I see." She thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in Dumbledore's expression before she dropped her gaze back down to her lap. The resentment flared again. What did he expect from her exactly?

"Bulstrode has been acting like a right cow this week," Raquel boldly threw in. She looked so much more assured than Pansy did, despite the outright lie, that she was almost grateful to her. Raquel even had the gall to smirk at the headmaster. "She had it coming."

"A joke, then," said Snape, finally contributing something beyond just his ominous presence. His dangerous drawl ran chilly fingers down her neck, and she sank even further into her seat. "A joke involving legally purchased butterbeer. But what of my missing stores?"

The question wasn't specifically directed at her, but Pansy could feel Snape's sharp gaze boring into her, and the sensation made all of the hairs on her arms stand up. She tried to swallow, but her mouth suddenly felt dried out. There was no question about it. He had to know that she was the one that took his supplies. Her guilt was so apparent that there might as well have been a giant _G_ marked on her forehead. A farcical painting no longer seemed like such a brilliant idea after all. Of course, they were never supposed to get _caught_.

Where the _hell_ was Bulstrode?

Theodore saved her. "Bulstrode took them," he said loudly, obviously trying to regain their attention, but inadvertently startling his sister in the process. They were all on edge, but she looked the closest to cracking.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at him. "She did?"

How much did they know? That was the burning question. There couldn't have been enough time for Bulstrode to tell them _everything_. Or... maybe the professors had been onto them from the start, and they were just waiting for them to slip up. Maybe Bulstrode had panicked and gone back to the room. It was possible that they were being toyed with now. Maybe all of this was based solely on conjecture. They could have tripped some kind of alarm while exiting the castle, and the professors had just assumed that they were behaving like dark wizards. That didn't explain where Bulstrode had gotten to, but… Maybe, maybe, maybe…

"It was a _dare_. We didn't really think that she'd do it," Theodore said, sneering. "It's not our fault that she actually did."

"_Nott_," Draco snapped. His lie was building and gaining its own momentum. It wasn't exactly helping Pansy's nerves to see him losing control of the situation, and she could only hope that it wasn't going to prove to be a snowballing effect.

"No, _Malfoy_," Theodore said, rushing forward. "How were we supposed to know that she'd develop a spine at the last minute?"

One of the portraits was signaling towards the headmaster, and he said a polite, "Excuse me," before going over to converse with it in hushed tones.

If she thought that the temporary absence of Dumbledore would be a relief, then McGonagall and Snape stood to remind her of otherwise. The older woman had never quite so resembled a bird as she did right then. An angry, perched bird that was just waiting for its chance to peck at them. What was she even doing there? No Gryffindors sneaking out tonight, so she felt the need to throw in her expertise in dealing with meandering students for Snape's benefit? If he only knew… Or did he? How much did _anyone_ know? Pansy wished that Snape would stop staring at her like that. Then, maybe her mind would stop feeling so muddled, and she would be able to think properly again.

And where was all of that shining nepotism that Snape was infamous for?

Dumbledore returned to his seat, patting McGonagall's shoulder as he passed her. She was clearly on her last nerve, but her expression thawed slightly at his gesture. The Slytherins were all eyeing him warily, but he pretended not to notice as he took another casual sip of butterbeer. "Well, it seems that Mr. Filch has not been able to locate Professor Snape's missing items outside. That isn't surprising considering the time of night, but I feel that it is my duty to inform you that Mr. Filch is now going through your dorm rooms as we speak."

Their heads all shot up at that. Pansy felt a sinking in her stomach.

"You're going through our stuff?" Alyssa screeched, abandoning the façade of nonchalance in favor of outright indignation.

"No, Ms. Nott," he said calmly. "As you can see, _I_ am sitting right in front of you. Mr. _Filch_ is going through your stuff."

"You can't do that!" she yelled, standing up. Pansy looked to her in alarm. Alyssa was giving into her panic, and her own rose in response. Even Theodore was starting to squirm nervously beside her. The stupid girl was going to ruin everything—

Draco must have sensed her heightened anxiety, because he unexpectedly reached over and grabbed her hand at the same moment that Blaise had the forethought to reach up and yank Alyssa back down into her chair. The girl made a disgruntled noise as her bum collided hard against the wood, but she didn't try to get up again. However, her eyes remained wild with suppressed fever.

Dumbledore watched all of this with an impassive expression that betrayed nothing of his thoughts. When it became clear that Alyssa was finished with vocally venting her frustration, he said, "I'm sorry, but it is within our rights to search your rooms, seeing as how they are on school property. Some of those items have the potential to be very dangerous, so it's within your best interests to have them removed from your sleeping quarters."

Pansy had to fight back the sneer that desperately wanted to spread across her face. Those items were fine in proximity to _Snape's_ sleeping quarters, and since when had he ever cared about their best interests? How about _never_? The old bastard.

Blaise seemed to share Pansy's thoughts. "We just told you that _Bulstrode_ took your things. Why don't you ask _her_ where they are instead of violating the rest of our privacy?"

Dumbledore sighed again as if their continued denials were growing wearisome. How terribly sad for _him_. "Miss Bulstrode is not present, Ms. Zabini," he said. "However, we might as well pass the time productively as we wait for Mr. Filch to finish his search."

"This is extortion," Theodore said, his eyes narrowed.

"No, Mr. Nott," Dumbledore said wearily, "this is an opportunity for us to get certain matters cleared away before we continue on our chosen paths."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? She felt Draco's grip on her hand tighten.

"Now, I'm going to have to be frank with you," he said, leaned forward. He folded his hands on top of his massive desk and stared at them over his half-moon spectacles. "If Ms. Bulstrode did indeed take the missing items from Professor Snape's stores, then it is very likely that she had help."

Pansy didn't miss the strong doubt that he embedded in the word "_if_." The fact that she actually _had_ was the most ironic truth hidden within the multitude of other lies. So, Millicent had time to warn them, but not enough time to explain her own role? Figured.

"We didn't help her," Raquel said angrily. "Nott just told you that we didn't even think that she'd do it!"

"But you _did_ dare her to do it?"

Raquel sank sullenly lower in her seat and said no more.

"_None_ of you have any idea where these items are hidden? Mr. Crabbe?"

Crabbe shot a glance at Draco, and then dutifully shook his head. Good boy.

"That's very disappointing," Dumbledore said sadly. Yeah, she bet it was.

The door suddenly burst open behind them, and Pansy whipped her head around to see Mr. Filch, breathing raggedly as if he had just run all the way from the dungeons. He probably had.

"No stores," he gasped out. "The little rats have hidden them somewhere else! But I did find these!" He triumphantly held up several of what looked like magazines.

"Hey!" Theodore yelled, pointing at Filch's prize. "Those aren't against the rules!"

"No, but they are of no benefit to you, Mr. Nott," Dumbledore said as he came around his desk to take them from Filch.

Pansy had a brief glimpse of flesh and a winking witch before Dumbledore had his back to her. Realizing what they were, she rolled her eyes. And yet, she wasn't surprised.

"Idiot," Blaise coughed under her breath. Theodore's scoffed, but his cheeks were pink.

Dumbledore moved over to where his bizarre bird was perched. With a flick of his wrist and a blow of air from his lips, the magazines turned into scraps of confetti and flitted to rest neatly beneath the bird. Future kindling?

Theodore groaned loudly, but Draco was already steering them back on course. "You heard the man, Headmaster. He found _nothing_." There was no mistaking the smugness in his voice.

"I'll find them," Filch growled. "Make no mistake, ye little—"

"_Thank_ you, Mr. Filch," Dumbledore said hastily, turning his attention away from stroking the bird's wing. "That will be all."

Filch continued to glare at Draco, seeming hesitant to leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Dumbledore repeated patiently.

Having been dismissed twice, Filch had no choice but to take his reluctant leave.

"Well?" Draco demanded as soon as the door was closed. "Are we free to leave?"

"Soon, Mr. Malfoy. Now, onto the matter of your punishment…"

"Punishment? You can't punish us without proof that we did something wrong!"

"But you _did_ and we _do_," McGonagall said stiffly. "At the very least, you were all out of bed and caught in a restricted area."

Well, _yeah_. There was _that_.

"So, detention, then?" Theodore sighed.

Alyssa erupted. "Will you just shut up?" she yelled. "Just _shut up_, Theodore! You're only making things worse!"

"Ms. Nott!" McGonagall snapped. "That will be quite enough!"

Pansy had to agree. Why were any of them speaking at all? She couldn't have if she wanted to. She still felt frozen, and even though Theodore was sitting right beside her, she couldn't uncurl her fingers from her own iron-grip on the armrests in order to smack him into silence. That, and the fact that Draco was still clutching one of her hands.

Alyssa looked like she was going to continue digging her own hole, but Snape cut her off. "You _will_ get yourself under control," he snapped. She immediately shrank under his cowing.

"Did you have another idea for an appropriate punishment, Mr. Nott?" Dumbledore asked in a way suggesting that he would probably genuinely consider whatever Theodore threw out there.

Theodore must have picked up on the inherent danger there as well, because he merely gave the headmaster an icy stare.

"Just as well," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Filch has proven to be creative enough on his own without any suggestions from me." Pansy was right to feel nervous. She suddenly wondered if those rumors about Filch's chains had any validity to them.

He regarded them all with an expression that she might have called sad if she didn't know better. "I'm only going to ask this once more. No one has any idea of where Professor Snape's stores have gotten to? _No_ one?"

His gaze, probing and measuring, moved slowly from student to student. When it was Pansy's turn, she kept her eyes trained resolutely on the floor. This was only slightly less horrible than being dissected by Snape, and she was pretty sure that he was currently staring her down as well. Pansy didn't begin to breath again until after she felt him move on to Draco.

The silence weighed heavily on them in the absence of any impassioned confessions, until Dumbledore finally sighed in resignation. "Very well, then. You may all leave. You'll be receiving details for your detentions in the near future."

There was the scrape of chairs, but Pansy didn't move. That was it? A detention? Really? That couldn't be right.

Noticing her lack of movement, Draco tugged at her until she stood on shaky legs. For the first time in what felt like eternity, she allowed herself to look up into his face. But Draco was ushering her out of the room before she had time to find purchase in his expression. She felt Snape's gaze, sharp and accusing, on her back as they crossed the room. She even imagined that she could still feel it after the door cut between them.

No longer under direct scrutiny, Pansy instantly sagged against Draco's side. With a surprised grunt, he caught her, preventing an embarrassing tumble down the stairs. Where was the relief that was supposed to come now? They had the almost unbelievable fortune to get off with nothing but a measly detention, and she was still standing there like a shell-shock victim.

Draco shifted her so that he had a more secure hold on her waist. "It's all right," he whispered. "I've got you."

Pansy didn't feel reassured. Rather, she experienced a rush like an icy wind run through their veins. Something was building and swirling inside her that felt like the beginning of a long and painful scream. He _had_ her? Since when? Whose fault was all of this? Her grip on Draco's shirt inadvertently tightened, and he obviously mistook it as a need for comfort, because he squeezed her closer in a way that she assumed was supposed to be comforting. She wanted to hit him. Questioned by Dumbledore… Their rooms searched…

Confident that her legs would hold her, she pulled out of his hold. Being so close to him right then made her head spin in a way that was nowhere near pleasant. To his inquiring look, she muttered, "I'm fine now." But she wasn't. Not by a long shot. Draco didn't look convinced, but she couldn't be bothered with caring at the moment. If she could have, she would have shuddered out of her own skin just to escape this night.

Undeterred, Draco moved closer to her, and she felt the brush of his hand against hers. Pansy glanced down and realized that he was attempting to twine his fingers with hers. She snapped her hand back as if his touch burned her, and she folded her arms securely over her chest, staring hard at the wall. She didn't have to see it to know that his expression was a combination of surprise and hurt. What exactly was he expecting from her right then? Comfort? Did he really expect _her_ to comfort _him_? Draco could drown in the Great Lake for all she cared at that moment.

"Pansy?" he said in a voice that was going for soft, but she heard the undercurrent of frustration.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, for a moment forgetting that they were standing directly outside of Dumbledore's office. "You knew," she said.

Not missing her meaning, Draco's expression immediately hardened. "_Don't_," he said sharply.

She turned her glare back to the wall, and after a moment, she heard him sigh. "_Pas ici_," he amended quietly. _Not here_. Pansy looked at him, but said nothing. The silence stretched between them until Draco finally had enough.

"Let's go," he said, suddenly all business again.

Together, they trudged down the steps. The rest of their motley crew was waiting for them at the bottom. Well, for Draco, anyway. They were all staring at him, but he brushed by them and kept walking, suddenly seeming to be in just as much of a hurry to put some space between them and that office as she was.

Blaise quickly caught up with him. "Where do you think they stashed Bulstrode?" she said in sotto voice, clearly struggling to match his stride.

"Nowhere," he replied in kind. "Where are they going to hide her?"

He had a point.

When they reached their room, Pansy wasn't surprised to see that the room was a disaster area. Clothes and sheets were strewn together in the middle of the room. Drawers were hanging open in the bureaus, and it looked as if Filch had actually overturned some of Alyssa's cosmetic jars. There were lipsticks and such that had rolled onto the floor beneath her vanity.

She heard outraged noises behind her as she moved further into the room, but she didn't turn around to see the looks on their faces. Pansy had her own horror to deal with.

She immediately noticed that her trunk was missing from where she had left it on the floor. Another glance around the room didn't yield its location, and she began to suspect that Filch must have confiscated it. Unfortunately, she could see that her little box of memos that Draco had given her was also gone. She figured that with enough perseverance, Filch would get both of them open. Her cheeks burned with mortification at the thought of Filch reading her private thoughts and going through her personal things. There was a reason why she kept those things locked away. Aside from her paints, that trunk also carried some particularly sweet letters from Draco that he had sent over the years. However angry she was with him, she didn't know what she'd do if those were destroyed. There were also photographs and the rare, praised assignment from Snape— as praising as Snape ever was. That one— that _one_— quiz on which she had scored a half-point more than Granger. She'd _known_ that Snape was going to pull a trick question about jobberknoll feathers, because she'd seen a phial of them on his desk in his rooms the night before.

"I'm going to file an official complaint," Alyssa announced, holding up a coat that had both of the pockets ripped out.

"To who?" Pansy said tiredly. "Filch is just going to say that he was working on Dumbledore's orders, and Dumbledore is going to say that we were stealing things in order to perform dark magic. Which we were," she added.

"Shut _up_!" Blaise hissed. "_Filch_ was in here! He probably planted all kinds of devices in here to spy on us." She lifted one of her disheveled bed sheets as if she expected to find such a device hidden beneath the comforter.

Unconcerned, Pansy sank onto her own ruffled bed and buried her face in her hands.

"Well, _she's_ not here," Raquel said darkly, "but her stuff still is." She kicked at an open trunk, and the sound of wood scraping against wood made Pansy grind her teeth in annoyance. Apparently, Filch had indiscriminately searched through Millicent's stuff as well. There should have been some comfort there, but there really wasn't.

"Draco said—" Alyssa started.

"Malfoy doesn't know a bloody thing!" Raquel cried angrily. It wasn't necessarily a supportable remark at that particular moment— Draco seemed to know quite a bit that the rest of them didn't— but Pansy empathized with her frustration.

"If they were going to move Bulstrode to another room, then they would have taken her stuff," Alyssa pointed out.

"They _better_ move her to another room," Raquel muttered as she gathered her things from the floor. "Bulstrode is going to wish that she had never been born." The sentiment was clearly shared around the room if everyone's expressions were anything to go by.

Pansy looked at her own things on the floor, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. It was so late that it must have been morning already. She wanted to collapse onto her bed and never get up again, but she feared that if she laid down now then she would see nothing but Snape's face behind her eyelids.

Instead, she reached down and grabbed her towel up from the floor. Without a word, she left her roommates to deal with the mess and headed for the shower room. Curfews be damned.

Dazed, she walked slowly, with her arms and legs moving sluggishly as if through molasses. Everything still seemed surreal, and the exhaustion pulled her deeper with each step. Her footfalls rose in echoes behind her. She was awake, but her brain was shutting down, creating the illusion of sleeping while not actually being asleep. There were too many thoughts and too many questions swirling around up there for her to cope with. She could really use the relaxing downpour of a shower.

She was just entering a shower stall when she heard it.

A whimper?

Pansy immediately back-peddled. She glanced around in search of the source. Only silence met her ears. She frowned, wondering if she had imagined it.

No. There it was again. This time, it was accompanied by a scuffling noise, and Pansy whipped her head around in time to see the quick movement of a shoe disappearing back into one of the stalls. She slowly edged closer.

"Millicent?" she tried.

The noises ceased again, but Pansy imagined that she could still hear the sound of Bulstrode's heart pounding louder. It had to be Bulstrode. She pushed at the door, but it was locked from the inside. Not surprising. Pansy pulled her wand out of her robes. She performed a quick, "_Alohomora_," and gently pushed the door open.

A pair of wide eyes stared up into hers. She looked terrified, like a mouse that had suddenly been grievously engorged. Millicent's mouth fell open and closed a few times like she was trying to get in enough air to actually speak.

"Are you hiding in here?" Pansy asked, thinking that the larger girl was in real danger of actually _quaking_ in terror. It was something of a bizarre sight.

"I… I didn't mean to," she finally stammered out.

"Bulstrode—"

"It just happened!"

Pansy knelt in front of her as a placating gesture. "Millicent, you need to calm down."

If anything, she began to shake more. "The others—"

"Don't worry about them," she cut in. "It's okay."

"That's what Dumbledore said," she murmured. "But he didn't—"

"He was right," Pansy interrupted again. "I'm not going to let them hurt you."

Millicent stared at her for a long time before she began to visibly relax. "You won't let Blaise skin me? Malfoy—"

"You don't have to worry about them," she said. She held out her hand and smiled reassuringly. "Just look at you. Come on out of there." What a ridiculous place to hide from them— their own bathroom.

"But—"

"_Trust_ me. I know you must have been afraid. Look, we obviously weren't expelled or else I wouldn't be here talking to you. Come on. I'll explain on the way back."

Millicent gnawed nervously at her lower lip, but the look in her eyes was starting to appear hopeful. "You aren't angry with me?"

"No. I understand why you did what you did. We were all afraid. I was a moment away from doing exactly what you did, myself. It's _okay_."

Millicent took a shaky breath, as if to steady herself, and then she tentatively reached out to take Pansy's still-outstretched hand. She seemed emboldened at the thought of some support. "Okay."

Pansy helped her to stand, and then she backed out of the stall so that Millicent could follow her. "Honestly. Hiding in a shower stall. You're as bad as Moaning Myrtle."

"They're going to kill me," Millicent bemoaned, heading for the door.

"They won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because they'll be too late."

Millicent had the supreme disadvantage of being too slow to process those words, because before she could fully turn around, Pansy had her wand out. "_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Millicent's body immediately froze up and fell over with a dull thud, sounding like a hunk of wood hitting the floor. Pansy moved so that she was standing over her. She watched impassively for a moment as Millicent began making odd squealing noises. The haze in her brain was cracking and inadvertently releasing a horrible buzzing that poured into her ears. Pansy's vision seemed to be tinged with red as she glared down at her prone roommate.

"You stupid cow," she said coldly. "_Just happened_, did it? More like you went running straight to Dumbledore the first second you could."

Millicent's eyelids blinked rapidly, and Pansy sneered down at her. "Care to speak, do you? Well, that's a real shame, Old Girl, because I'm not really in the mood to listen to any more of your stutterings. If you'd had your way, then I'd be on my way to Azkaban right now, wouldn't I?"

All of her fear and hate from the past few hours projected like missiles towards Bulstrode. She didn't realize what she was going to do until her heel was already pressing down on Millicent's bared throat. The other girl's eyes bulged at the sudden pressure.

"You could have ended my life with that little stunt. I would have spent the rest of my life in a cell." The very thought of the terrifying, dark place of her imagination made her heel press down a little harder. Millicent emitted choked, gurgling noises in response. They made Pansy angrier. Was she afraid for her life right then? Maybe like Pansy had been not so very long ago when Dumbledore and Snape stepped out of the darkness and into their midst in the Forbidden Forest?

Something cold slithered across her gut. _Snape_. The look on his face as he'd stood behind Dumbledore and not behind _them_… She had probably lost him forever from this. Millicent's fault.

"Whom did you think you were going to score points with?" she asked. "The headmaster? He doesn't give two shits about you beyond how much he can use you to get at the rest of us. Oh, no? _Not_ Dumbledore? Okay, then how about Snape? You think that by discrediting us, _you'll_ be his little pet? Fat chance, Bulstrode. I _know_ it wasn't dear old Daddy that you were thinking of, because he's going to be the first one to turn you inside out when he hears about this." She gave a harsh laugh. "Oh, I can see _that_ got a reaction. Afraid, are you? Good."

Millicent was beginning to turn a funny shade of puce. Pansy was distantly aware of the fact that she should be feeling worried about that, but her foot didn't come off of the other girl's throat. Her anger had given bloom to black spots at the edges of her vision. The furious buzzing was blocking out all logic from reaching her brain. She just knew that she wanted to punish Bulstrode. She had been so afraid…

Millicent's eyes, the only mobile part of her body, started to roll back into her head. Pansy began to shake as her impulses warred within her. A black voice in the back of her head was whispering that Bulstrode would deserve it if she kept pressing her heel down until her throat popped like an over-ripe cherry. She wouldn't be able to use those eager vocal cords _then_, would she? Her eyes narrowed, and her foot _pressed_…

The sound of the door opening barely registered in her ears, but the surprised noises from the doorway made her head snap up in response. Blaise and Raquel were standing there, staring at Pansy's foot on Millicent's neck, with shocked expressions on their faces. Their surprise quickly morphed into disturbing smiles as the two girls slunk forward so that they were also hovering above Bulstrode.

"Well, _there_ you are," Raquel said cheerfully. "We were just wondering about you."

"Hiding out like the proper rat, I see." Blaise said.

Millicent's eyes flew between them, wider and more terrified than before. Pansy was distantly annoyed with their additional presences, but she was more annoyed that pesky logic was beginning to break through the other noises.

"Harder, Pansy," Blaise hissed. "Show her what happens to traitors like her."

Pansy frowned as Blaise's fanatical glee planted some discomfiture in her mind. Raquel only made it worse when she took out her own wand with a mad look in her eye. A spark of horror at what she was doing finally ignited and began to grow. The voice suddenly erupted out with the realization that if she didn't remove her foot, she was going to _kill Millicent Bulstrode_.

With a gasp of horror, Pansy reared back so that she collided with the wall behind her. She immediately lifted the spell, despite Blaise's disgruntled, "_Parkinson_!"

Millicent didn't move. For one terrifying second, Pansy thought that she _had_ killed her. Then, Millicent let out a wheeze. The wheeze shook her entire body and turned into a series of hacking coughs in between giant gulps of air. She rolled onto her side and clutched desperately at her chest. Pansy watched her with a rising sense of nausea. She couldn't believe that she had actually…

"You see what you've done, Bulstrode?" Raquel said. "You've gone and unhinged even Parkinson. Your precious defender."

Pansy had never considered herself to be Millicent's defender. All she knew was that the look bordering admiration that Raquel was giving her was exacerbating the horror she was feeling.

"Who knew that you had it in you?" Blaise said with what sounded like grudging respect. Pansy had to assume that Blaise was talking to her, though she was staring raptly at Millicent. Though, they hadn't known that Millicent was capable of this. If they had, then everything would have been very different. They all _should_ have seen this coming. _None_ of this should have been a surprise.

Millicent remained hunched over, but she raised her head enough to catch Pansy's eye. Her gaze was still glazed from the oxygen deprivation, but it was clear enough that she was able to catch the accusation being projected her way. She was about to avert her eyes when she suddenly realized that Millicent was mouthing something to her. What the—? No. She couldn't have read that right. Bulstrode didn't… She didn't… Pansy's heart sank. She couldn't know!

But Bulstrode mouthed the name again, and Pansy couldn't deny that it looked suspiciously like she was saying, "_Dean_."

Blaise's voice brought her back to the issue at hand. "How long have you been talking to Dumbledore?" she demanded.

Millicent gave her a startled look.

Blaise looked angrier than Pansy had ever seen her, with the obvious exception of that tantrum she threw at her own birthday party when she turned nine. "_Well_?"

"Oh, don't bother talking yet," Raquel said, clearly unconcerned by the lack of forthcoming information. "It'll be more fun if we have to torture it out of you."

Millicent turned her alarmed look back to Pansy, and this time, there the name she was mouthing was unmistakable. She had to hope that Blaise and Raquel thought that she was just trying and failing to speak.

"Get out," she said suddenly.

Surprised, Blaise and Raquel's heads swiveled around to look at her.

"Excuse me?" Blaise said flatly.

"You heard me," Pansy said, finally moving away from the wall. "I want to talk to Bulstrode. _Alone_."

She wasn't surprised by their hesitance to take her seriously. Blaise looked between them suspiciously. "You're not going to help her skive out of this, are you?"

Pansy's glare was blistering. "Are you calling me a traitor, too, Zabini?"

Blaise scowled at her. She didn't have much to go on after walking in on what she had just moments before. "No. But why—?"

"Bulstrode seems to have something to tell me, if my lip-reading is up to scratch."

Millicent's eyes near bugged out of her head as if she couldn't believe that Pansy was risking this. She couldn't believe it either, but she was.

"What does she have on you?" Blaise asked dryly.

"I assume that part comes after you leave," she said.

"I'm not leaving just because—"

"Zabini!" Pansy tugged her close enough to whisper, "If she's willing to spill her guts this way, then it's not going to kill you to go along with it!" Blaise pursed her lips.

"What are you two whispering about over there?" Raquel said impatiently.

Pansy ignored her and kept her gaze trained on Blaise, silently willing her to obey. "Wait on the other side of the door. Just in case she tries to pull something."

This was make or break. Whether she realized it or not, Blaise had the power to completely destroy Pansy just by refusing to leave the room. No one ever had an easier method for bringing down an adversary. If she stayed, then Millicent would give her the ammunition that Zabini had been waiting for. Hell, she had probably been waiting their entire friendship for something like this. It should be a sweet victory for her. Pansy would try not to feel too bitter about it, because she would have done the same thing in her place. Right?

But apparently her friend was going to have to wait for another opportunity to bring her down, because Blaise was suddenly groaning in a way that told Pansy she had won. She did her best not to give an audible gasp of relief.

"C'mon," Blaise said to Raquel, tugging at her arm. Raquel looked appropriately flabbergasted as Blaise pulled her out of the room. After the door slammed shut, she could hear the loud protests.

Wasting no time, Pansy rounded on her. "What do you think you're—?"

Millicent suddenly lurched forward towards her fallen wand, and Pansy instinctively kicked at her hands as they reached for it. Millicent drew them back with a cry of pain. She glared up at her as Pansy crossed in front of her to grab up the wand.

"Now, you _made_ me do that," she said, feeling her rage bubbling back to the surface. "I dare you to try it again."

Her voice was scratchy and raw as she croaked out, "You tried to kill me!" She had the gall to sound surprised.

"Shut up, Bulstrode."

Her command was ignored as the other girl struggled up onto her knees. "_You…_ tried… to _kill_ me." This time, the surprise was laced with unmistakable reproach.

"I told you to shut up!" Pansy yelled. "You deserve worse for what you did!"

"What… _I_ did?"

"You do _not_ betray your family, Bulstrode. Rule #1. Everyone from the top down to the dimmest block of wood knows that about our house." She was ranting, with words flowing out of her mouth without any kind of moderating force. "Without that loyalty, we're nothing! _Nothing_, Bulstrode! We're just the scapegoats for the rest of the school to kick at whenever they're feeling either frustrated or bored with their own roles! Without the loyalty, then it isn't about _choice_. It's just—"

"It was _never_ about choice!" Millicent shouted, startling Pansy out of her diatribe. It must have hurt to stretch her vocal cords like that after the ordeal they were just put through, but it didn't stop her. "No one ever asked me! And _you're_ lecturing me about loyalty?_ You_?"

The temperature of the room fell even further by a few degrees. "_What_," she said dangerously, gripping her wand tighter, "is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw you," Millicent hissed, "with Thomas."

The floor threatened to fall out from under her, and Pansy blanched. She stared hard at Millicent. "You didn't see anything, you little traitor."

"_You're_ the traitor!" Millicent shot back. "Or the hypocrite, at any rate. All those times when I've had the mick taken out of me over Finch-Fletchley, and you were snogging Dean Thomas!"

Pansy flinched at the loud echo of Millicent's voice. She glanced nervously at the door as if Blaise might pop out from behind it, yelling "Ah-ha!"

"You've got some nerve," she seethed. "I _never_ took the piss out of you over your pathetic and _very_ unrequited crush on Finch-Fletchley. I _defended_ you!"

Millicent scoffed. "Oh, please. Do you want a medal for every half-hearted attempt at human decency?"

Who _was_ this person, and where was all of this venom coming from? "You ungrateful—"

"Does Malfoy know about you and Thomas?" she rushed forward. "Does he know that someone actually rivals him for hypocrisy in this house?"

"_You_ don't get to talk about Draco. You lost the right when you betrayed him the second he gave you a chance."

"A chance to become a murderer!" she cried. The way her eyes widened afterward suggested that she hadn't expected to say those words aloud. But she had.

Pansy stared at her in dismay. "Are you completely mental? All you had to do was get—"

"Did you even look at that list?"

"Yes! In case you've forgotten, I had to cover your arse a few hours ago!"

Millicent waved that off, desperation tainting her movements. "But did you really _look_ at what he wanted me to get for him?"

"For _us_, Bulstrode," she said impatiently. For _Him_. "And what are you getting at?"

"Those things— They were for a spell to _kill_ someone! We're talking about the Dark Lord! What else could we be doing?"

And Pansy was silly enough to desire enlightenment on what had been going through her pint-sized brain. "Bulstrode, you moron! We weren't going to kill anyone! That's not what the spell was. You almost got _us_ killed, and it was all due to you jumping to stupid conclusions." She growled in frustration, feeling the need to throttle her again. "And it's convenient that you remember _now_ that it was for the Dark Lord, seeing as how you didn't seem to be particularly concerned with him when you were sabotaging us."

"I'm not a murderer," Millicent said sullenly, as if Pansy had tried to convince her of otherwise.

This was really getting to be too much for her. She felt as if she were bashing her head against a brick wall. "We weren't going to kill anyone!" she cried.

"How do you—?"

"Because he told me!"

It was Millicent's turn to look disgusted. "_Malfoy_ told you what we were going to do? And you _believed_ him?"

"Don't be thick," she snapped. "There was no way that he could have tricked us into killing someone. And it doesn't even matter, because it's looking like there was never a task to begin with. It was a _test_, Bulstrode."

Millicent was starting to look nervous. "A… a test?"

"Yeah. A _loyalty_ test," she said pointedly. It didn't matter that Pansy was only speculating on Draco's motives, because the results were the same no matter what he intended.

Millicent abruptly paled, and Pansy experienced a rush of satisfaction. "You exposed yourself to Dumbledore for _nothing_, and you proved yourself useless in both loyalty _and_ competency. Congratulations."

She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, God…"

Pansy couldn't afford to feel any sympathy for her. Not anymore. "Daddy will be proud," she added spitefully. She leaned close enough to whisper, "And if you ever so much as _breathe_ a word about Dean to anyone, then you can consider the girls unleashed. I can't be responsible for what'll happen to you."

With that, she left Millicent trembling on the floor, pulling the door shut behind her. Before she had even a second to process what had just occurred, she met Blaise and Raquel's eager stares. Out of one mess and into another.

"Well? What did she have on you?" Blaise inquired, arms folded.

"Nothing," she lied. "The crazy bat was lying. She just wanted to get me alone, because she thought that I'd help her."

"After you tried to off her?" Raquel said dubiously. This really wasn't the appropriate time for her to grow a brain.

"Be quiet and listen to me. From now on," she said, "no one discusses anything— I mean _nothing_— of any significance or relevance in front of Bulstrode. I know that it can be hard to remember that she's there sometimes." She gave a pointed look at Raquel. "However, everyone is going to have to be more aware in the future. I don't want Bulstrode knowing so much as what toothpaste you use on a day when we have to deal with anything from…" She trailed off significantly. "You get me?"

Raquel nodded agreeably, but Blaise just rolled her eyes. "Bulstrode's the newest _persona non grata_. We get it. _And_?"

"And _what_?" Pansy asked irritably.

"What are we going to _do_ about Bulstrode?"

"_Do_ as in…?"

"Yeah," she said with a significant look passing between her and Raquel.

Pansy sighed, finally understanding. "Nothing. She's been dealt with. Just make sure that she stays out of our business from now on."

"But—"

"Look, do you _want_ to set off Dumbledore's bells, Zabini? Because they're going to be waiting for us to do something stupid like that."

"Bulstrode doesn't get to just walk away from this," Raquel said angrily.

"No," Pansy allowed. "But not _here_."

"Where, then?" Blaise said sarcastically. "Any specific place that you had in mind?"

Pansy actually had several ideas, but her patience with this entire situation was exhausted. "Zabini," she said through clenched teeth. "Briggs. Bulstrode is _off-limits!_ No one touches her. End of story." She brushed past them and continued down the hall, her shower forgotten. A few drops of water weren't worth it.

Before she turned a corner, she heard Blaise mutter something to Raquel that sounded suspiciously like, "We'll see."

* * *

The small, ornate clock on her nightstand claimed that it was only half-past three, but Pansy felt certain that it was lying to her.

The quiet of the room did nothing to soothe the roaring of her mind. She tried pressing her pillow over her face, but that only served to hinder the— apparently essential— task of breathing. Around her, Pansy could hear her roommates moving restlessly in their own beds. Hardly a surprise. How could anyone expect them to sleep? Pansy didn't expect to ever sleep again. What was the point, when her nightmares were just as present during the waking hours? Snape…

She sighed and sat up. She knew what she was going to do, but she had been putting it off in the hope that sleep would claim her instead. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.

She felt their eyes on her as she left the room, but no one stopped her. Pansy knew that they were awake, but she kept up the pretense and closed the door softly behind her. The frigid air did nothing kind for her, and her fingers tingled with cold as they clutched her wand. Pansy's slippers made slapping noises against the stone floor as she made her way across the common room and up to the seventh year boy's dorm.

The door proved to be locked. She wasn't surprised, considering the extreme breach of privacy they had all just suffered. However, it didn't serve her purposes at the moment. She banged her fist against the wood, calling, "Open the door!"

After a pause, Theodore obliged, looking annoyed. "What are you—?" His question was cut off as she brushed past him.

The boys weren't even attempting to sleep. The lights were on, and only Goyle was actually in his bed. He and Crabbe were clearly surprised by her impromptu entrance. Wide-eyed, Goyle quickly pulled the sheet up over his bare chest.

Draco was lying on top of his duvet, still clothed. He sat up at her entrance, frowning. Holding his stare, she crossed the room and climbed up onto the edge of his bed.

Theodore closed the door behind her and followed Pansy over to Draco's corner of the room. "What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Bugger off," she said, jerking the curtains of Draco's bed in front of his face. She ignored the unflattering name that Theodore called her and pulled the curtains all the way around his bed. The silencing spell blocked out anything else that he might have said.

"Well, that was dramatic," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "Marching over here like that. Didn't even have time to put on a robe?"

Pansy's mouth formed a thin line. Her pajamas were long-sleeved and flannel. She didn't need a robe. "Believe it or not, I actually had other things on my mind," she said flatly.

"So important that you had to come over here _right now_? Funny, because I was under the impression that you were giving me the silent treatment."

"I may very well," she said, edging closer. "But I just wanted to get a few things straight first."

"And that would… be… Oh." His words trailed off, and Draco's eyes widened as Pansy suddenly crawled over him. Without any of the timidity she would have once had, she straddled his hips and stared down at him with a cold expression. After a moment's hesitation, Draco propped himself up on his elbows.

"Well, this is familiar," Draco said, voice gone low and husky. She assumed that he was referring to their confrontation in the library. Of course, he could have been referring to…. anyone, really. She tensed when one of his hands dropped onto her flannel-clad thigh. She watched as his fingers traced a seemingly lazy pattern over the fabric, and Pansy did her damnedest not to respond. He didn't deserve it.

Draco leaned forward, and she could feel his breath against her mouth. Despite their temporary privacy, his voice was a low murmur as he said, "You're not about to tell me that you snogged another Mudblood, are you?"

Pansy couldn't even muster up the mocking retort that she knew would be appropriate about now. Instead, she pressed her wand against his throat and enjoyed seeing his eyes widen. "No, Draco," she said shakily. "That's _not_ what I wanted to tell you."

His hand came off her leg, and she felt a grim sort of relief. Draco cautiously leaned back against the bed, eyeing her wand as it followed his movement. "_What_" he said slowly, "do you think you're doing?" She had expected more anger and indignation, but he really sounded more curious than anything else.

"Shut up," she snapped. The madness from earlier was making a reappearance, and she wanted nothing more than for the angry buzzing to go away. However, she wanted answers more. "Shut up or so help me, I'll give you such a permanent set of boils that a _saw_ wouldn't remove them."

Draco stilled completely beneath her, but she thought she saw a glimmer of that anger she wanted.

"_Tu le savais_," she said. _You knew_. "I don't know how, but you knew that Millicent was going to betray us. Didn't you?"

Draco took his time in answering. He glanced between her face and the wand, his expression impassive. The thought of him not taking her seriously, when she was already feeling stretched to the point of snapping, made her press her wand deeper into his throat. He made a choking noise, and she shuddered, thinking of Millicent. She faltered just long enough, so that before she knew what was happening, Draco's arm came up in a flash. She gasped as he knocked her wand right out of her hand. "Oi!" She went to grab for it, but Draco abruptly gripped her hips and flipped them over so that Pansy's back hit the bed. The air whooshed out of her lungs as his weight came down on her. She lashed out at him, but he easily caught her wrists, effectively trapping her.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Draco hissed, face pressed close enough to hers so that his fury rolled over her like a desert wave. His hands squeezed her wrists so tightly that she could feel the bones shifting unnaturally. She bit her lip against making a noise of pain.

Pansy had to take several deep, deep, patience-inducing breaths. This scenario was beginning to get old _real_ fast. "_Get_… _off_," she said emphatically, barely restraining her temper from becoming the tempestuous whirlwind that she knew she was capable of.

"_Don't_ think so," Draco said, his face more likely flushed with anger than actual exertion. And he did look angry. She was once again reminded of his barely-contained rage in the library. The fierce glaciers he called eyes speared her in place as successfully as if he had used an actual spear. _Merde_.

"You pull a wand on _me_? On _me_? Do you really think that I _need_ this right now?" he demanded, releasing her arms so that he could grip her shoulders and shake her. "_Do_ you?" She blinked owl-like at him, too intrigued with her new revelation to bother feeling indignant about the jostling.

Why, was that a hint of _hysteria_ that she detected in his voice? Was Draco closer to cracking than he let on? Was it wrong to feel as relieved as she did to see an actual _emotion_ out for display? The world was falling down around them, and the one person she had always been able to count on had been replaced by a marble statue that only cared enough for her to want to control her. Was it any wonder that she was spiraling out of control? Where was her anchor?

Pansy smacked his hands away and regarded him with a scowl. "I don't care about what you need anymore. And why should I? You obviously don't care about what I need, because _I_ needed you to be honest with me. All you had to do was tell me the truth about what we were going to be doing, and you couldn't even do that."

Draco frowned down at her as his eyes roved her face, apparently searching for something. He must not have found whatever he was looking for, because his frown deepened. He spoke slowly to her, as if to a child. "I did not, nor have I _ever_, lied to you. When are you going to get that through your thick head, Parkinson?"

"_Just don't go running off," _he'd said. Well, Pansy had never been more tempted to do so. Just cut her losses and go. Run straight to Dean Thomas. That's what she should do. It would serve Draco right.

Maybe the extremely long and emotionally draining night was finally taking its toll on her, because Pansy suddenly felt an irrational urge to cry as the cold hand of despair crept up on her. Or maybe she was just getting really tired of being let down. She took another deep breath to ensure that her voice wouldn't break. "Draco, you're lying to me now," she said quietly.

Looking down at her, Draco's face softened. She was too exhausted to hide her inner turmoil, and he was _Draco_. She had never been good at hiding things from him. She just wished that it went both ways. Apparently, all it took to trick her was to slam her into doors. One good crash, and it was suddenly, "_Yes, Draco. Of course we're raising the dead, Draco_. _Of course I'll help Bulstrode, Draco. Whatever you say, Draco."_ It would probably be giving her too much credit to think that the impact had temporarily muddled her brain.

Sighing, he shifted his weight over so that he was lying beside her instead of on top of her. He gave her a knowing look and tugged at a strand of her hair. "Are you all right?"

The answer was a resounding _no_. Pansy choked down her self-loathing and turned her head to meet his gaze head-on. "Admit it," she demanded. "Admit that you knew what Bulstrode was going to do."

Draco dropped his eyes to the strand of her hair that he was twining around his finger, as he appeared to think about his answer. Pansy waited, hoping that she would get a straight answer for once. Releasing her hair, Draco finally groaned and ran a hand over his face. "She was a loose-canon. I had to be sure."

Pansy closed her eyes and released a long breath. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her anger was threatening to rejuvenate at the thought of all the trouble she went to in order to cover Bulstrode's arse.

Draco didn't answer her. When she glanced at him, his jaw was tight and he was staring at something beyond her that only he could see. She was tempted to snap her fingers in front of his face in order to regain his attention, but he spoke before she had the chance. "I had to be sure," he repeated.

Pansy was confused until the realization hit her like a pile of bricks. She felt her throat go dry. "You weren't just testing Bulstrode," she said, horrified. "You were testing me. You don't trust me." They weren't questions. Her heart felt like it was snapping in half. It was one thing for Blaise to be suspicious of her, but _Draco_? Her best friend? Her _soul mate_? She suddenly couldn't stand their close proximity anymore, so she sat up and scooted away from him, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I don't believe this." She was going to be sick.

"What do you expect?" he said defensively, arms flailing. "I need you now more than ever, and suddenly, you're _lying_ to me and running off with _Mudbloods_—"

"Stop making it out like I'm betraying you or something!" she yelled, frustrated beyond belief. "I'm done defending myself to you! You don't want to be told what to do? Well, neither do I. So, you can just _stop_ it. I mean… Shit, Draco. Do you even realize that we've done nothing but argue lately?"

"Whose fault is that?"

_Yours, yours, yours_, she thought. "How did we get like this?" She buried her face in her knees, and Draco must have thought she was crying, because even his silence felt awkward.

"Are you…? Err…"

"I'm not crying, you insensitive toad," she muttered, raising her head to glare at him. Draco looked relieved, but the expression dissipated as the words erupted from her mouth like they were trying to escape. "I just hate that you feel like you have to test what we have, and I hate that I don't know when I'll be able to trust you again. Do you have any idea how scared I was in Dumbledore's office? I have _you_ to thank for that. You put us in there, Draco. _For no reason_. I don't think you even realize… I just…" She had to look away, because the emotion was taking over her voice, and there were real tears gathering in her vision. "_Quelquefois, je te déteste vraiment_." _Sometimes, I really hate you._

She heard him sigh, and there was the sound of rustling as he scooted over to her. His arm came over her shoulders. She stiffened until Draco tenderly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "So melodramatic," he whispered.

Pansy said nothing, so Draco tugged her down with him until she ended up with her head resting on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her hair. Pansy couldn't help the full-body shudder that moved through her. This was exactly where she wanted to be, but the situation was so messed up. She clutched his shirt between her fingers and tried to will the reassurance to come from the mere smell and feel of him. It didn't work, but his body warmth reminded her of how cold the dungeons got around the twilight hours.

When he spoke, she could feel the vibrations in his throat. "I'll tell you something true."

"I don't believe you," she said sadly.

Draco's head shifted, and she didn't have to see it to know that he was scowling down at her. "Well, you should, because I'm not telling anybody else."

Pansy had heard that before, so she said nothing. Seeming frustrated by her lack of apparent faith, he pushed her back so that he could look into her eyes. The new position hurt her neck, so she sighed and lifted herself up onto her elbows. "What?"

"Pansy, I didn't lie to you about what we're doing. I just neglected to mention that all of the ingredients are already at Malfoy Manor, waiting for us."

Her face slackened with surprise. "Wait… What?"

He smirked at her. "We're still raising the dead, Babe."

Pansy sagged back down to his chest, too surprised to respond. There hadn't been time or sanity enough for her to really think through the implications of performing a task like that. Perhaps the one good thing that could have come out of this would have been learning that they weren't really expected to do anything for the Dark Lord. She still couldn't wrap her brain around it, and maybe she didn't really want to. Her heart was thumping harder inside her chest, and Draco must have felt it, because his arms tightened around her.

"We'll still have the chance to prove ourselves over the holidays," he said, not noticing when she tensed up. "You don't have to worry about anything. Everything's going to be fine. As long as we're together, everything's going to work out exactly as we've planned." She wondered if he was even talking to her anymore.

Pansy felt far from reassured. Her brain kept switching tracks on her, and her initial indignation felt frozen. There were about a thousand questions swirling in her brain, and she probably didn't want the answers to any of them.

Seeing no other option, she clung to Draco for dear life and tried not to think about it.

* * *

Pansy snuck back into her own dorm a few hours later, and she stared up at the ceiling of her bed until the twilight shadows began to creep up the walls. This had been the longest night of her life.

When it was undeniably morning, her roommates began to vacate their beds in a synchronized way, suggesting that they hadn't been any more successful than she had been at sleeping. It was still too early to get ready for the day, so they silently began to gather their individual belongings from the floor. Where had all the hours come from? By a tacit agreement, the girls had decided not to bother attempting to right the room the night before. They had all been too exhausted, too shaken up, and too angry to be properly efficient.

There were many gloomy looks exchanged as they dressed, and it could have been her imagination, but it seemed to her that everyone was moving extra slowly. She wondered if her roommates were dreading the upcoming day as much as she was. If she could have gotten away with it, then she would have just stayed in bed.

Millicent never came back to the dorm, but Pansy wasn't really surprised. She was probably still cowering somewhere. It didn't really matter. She couldn't hide forever.

Breakfast promised to be uneventful. Pansy kept her gaze firmly trained away from the staff table, and none of the other students seemed to be aware that anything strange had occurred the night before. Not even Potter or his lackeys, who always seemed to have their noses in everything that wasn't any of their business, appeared to have any idea. For that, Pansy was relieved.

The younger Slytherins were getting used to the odd behavior from their leaders, and she was kind of relieved about that, too. However, she wondered how long it would be before they finally got fed up enough to move forward with their own factions. After all, wasn't that what happened with her own year? She wasn't terribly worried about the current sixth years, considering that the strongest personality probably belonged to Belinda Oakley, the halfwit tart. No political threat there. Though, she'd need to remember to pay better attention to the fifth years. How old had Draco been when she'd started to notice that wherever he was sitting somehow became the center of the table?

Two school owls brought the instructions for their detention, with one parchment for Draco and one for Pansy. After some comparison, she realized that the instructions to report to Filch were identical. There was the obvious implication that they were supposed to share the information with their roommates, and Pansy had to wonder if this was Dumbledore's own cracked way of recognizing them as the heads of their individual blocs. Would recognition like that from him be a good thing or a bad thing? She didn't know.

Things took an interesting twist somewhere in between Pansy's eggs and Blaise's cruel jibe about Pansy needing to avoid further consumption of jams. It turned out that they didn't have to wait long for Millicent's reappearance. The call of food was enough to bring her out of hiding. She came through the doors long after everyone else and scurried to the far end of the Slytherin table where the first years were sitting.

Pansy was too busy feeling grateful that she didn't have to be in a cramped Potions classroom with Snape that day to pay her much mind. However, there was at least one other person without the same distractions. Millicent must have turned her back for just long enough, or else she made the mistake of eating something that was passed to her, because the resulting explosion from her end of the table ended up coating all of the first years as well as some neighboring Ravenclaws at the next table. By the time the smoke cleared and the gunk all over the students' faces registered, Millicent was screaming. There was a commotion, and Snape's robe brushed by her as he flew down from the staff table. Pansy shivered at the brief contact, but she didn't even look over to see what had happened. Instead, she rubbed at her tired eyes and went back to her breakfast.

It was officially open season.

* * *

They were scrubbing floors. Without magic.

"I _cannot_ believe this," Blaise seethed, speaking for all of them. She dunked her rotting sponge into the gray water with a wince. It shouldn't have been surprising when Filch didn't spare them any of his good supplies. Sweaty strands of blonde hair were stuck to Blaise's forehead, and she looked as miserable as any street urchin. Pansy had to duck her head to hide her smile, feeling slightly better about her own unkempt appearance. She couldn't bring herself to be too downtrodden, considering what the alternatives could have been. Scrubbing floors didn't even compare to a sentence in Azkaban. Although, the lack of gloves was rather conspicuous.

"And putting us next to Gryffindor Tower," she continued to rant. "_Sadistic_." So far, three little Gryffindors had come upon them on their way to their common room. They seemed shocked at first, but then came the inevitable amusement at seeing two notable Slytherins on the ground like pathetic slaves. Though, the definite highlight of Pansy's day had to be seeing Blaise hiss and scatter them like spooked pigeons.

"At least Bulstrode got detention, too. That almost makes it worth it."

"Can't argue that," Pansy muttered as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn piece of grim that had probably been dragged in by some Mudblood. A sort of strange, poetic justice? "But notice that she's not up here with us. They probably have her doing something cushy like dusting the books in the library."

An odd, little smile played at Blaise's face before she ducked her head. "Actually, they put her in the dungeons."

Surprised, Pansy glanced up. "How do you know?"

Blaise shrugged, still smiling in a way that could only be called smug. "I have my sources."

Pansy tried to keep herself expressionless, but her hand gripped her sponge so hard that all of the gray matter emptied out. "That so?" she said, forced-casual. Since when did Zabini have "sources" that she didn't know about?

"Aw. Don't look so glum, chum," Blaise patronized, with all of her teeth on view in a grin that must have hurt. "I think we can assume that Bulstrode's getting hers as we speak." She actually had the nerve to pat Pansy on the head with her free hand, which she immediately batted away.

"Keep your grimy hands to yourself!"

Blaise rolled her eyes and returned to her scrubbing. "Please. You have plenty of gunk in your hair already."

Pansy glared at her, resisting the urge to fix her hair due to equally nasty fingers. She had to assume that Blaise was referring to the Sleakeazy gel that Pansy depended on like Draco relied on his multitude of sycophantic mirrors. "How is Bulstrode 'getting hers,' Zabini?"

"Let's just say that I have it on good authority that some of the lower years are going to be making her task more… _difficult_ than it might otherwise be."

Pansy pulled the bucket over to herself. "Paid them, did you?" she said dully.

"I think you're underestimating our housemates," Blaise said. Something in her tone made Pansy glance up at her, but Blaise's face no longer revealed anything other than annoyance at the tenacity of the scum to stay on the floor. She sighed and sat up. "This sucks."

"Could be worse," Pansy said. "We could be stuck scrubbing the outside of Hagrid's hut like Draco and Theodore."

Blaise's eyes brightened. "This is true."

They shared a grin, until they were abruptly interrupted by the presence of a third party.

"Pansy?"

The smile froze on her face as her stomach abruptly sank. There was something inevitable about this. Somehow, she wouldn't be surprised if this was part of Dumbledore's prescribed punishment. Pansy couldn't look up, so she was stuck staring into Blaise's face until she managed to wrench her stare down to her sponge. Why, _why_ did it have to be him?

"Keep walking, Mudblood," Blaise said grumpily.

Dean ignored her, staring down at Pansy. "I heard you were out here. I wanted to see for myself."

Pansy silently cursed gossiping Gryffindors everywhere. Her skin prickled uncomfortably under his gaze, and having Blaise look worse than she did didn't seem like enough anymore. The urge to self-consciously fix her hair was suddenly stronger.

"Get your jollies where you can," Blaise said sweetly, "because we all know that a certain popular ride isn't giving them to you anymore."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Mind yourself, Zabini," Dean said coldly. He shuffled in an uncertain manner for a moment before he said, "So, are you just going to ignore me?"

Pansy inwardly sighed. He forced her to do this. "You heard her," she muttered. "Keep walking."

The silence following her words was thick with tension, but she steadfastly kept her gaze down as she scrubbed. She heard Dean snort, and his feet finally started to back away in her peripheral vision. "Right. I'll do that," he said bitterly. Pansy's heart ached a little. He started to walk away, but he paused long enough to say, "Oh, and Zabini? You missed a spot."

"Cheeky bugger," she said, but it seemed like more of an afterthought. She was staring at Pansy with a calculating look.

"What?" she said defensively.

"Since when are we on a first name basis with the likes of Dean Thomas?"

Okay…

_Memo to self: Stop Taking People's Intelligence for Granted._

Pansy shrugged uncomfortably. "We're not. Thomas is just experiencing delusions of friendship because we're working on that project together."

Blaise raised a dubious eyebrow at her. "Really? That's interesting, because you don't see Granger and I being all buddy-buddy."

"Did we _look_ buddy-buddy just now, Zabini?" Pansy demanded impatiently, throwing down her sponge. She ignored the creaks and pains in her legs as she stood up from the hard stone.

"No need to get so defensive," Blaise said, looking far from offended. "Where are you going?"

"To get some better sponges from Filch," she lied, trying her best not to run down the corridor and give herself away. She made it as far as around the corner before she broke and started to run. He was already down several flights of stairs before she finally located him.

"Dean, wait!" she called. She couldn't be sure if he heard her or not, because he didn't stop. It was hard to run down stairs without breaking her neck, but she was willing to try if he would just _slow down_.

Thankfully, Dean left the staircases and started down a seemingly random corridor. Pansy hurried after him, and she was finally able to get close enough so that she wouldn't have to shout. "Dean!" she hissed, trying not to draw any unwanted attention. "Dean!" He still wasn't responding, even though there was no way that he couldn't hear her. She finally gave up trying to be quiet and yelled, "_Thomas_!" There wasn't anyone else around anyway. "Will you just stop?"

He gave an incredulous snort without turning around or stopping. Pansy was jogging to keep up with him, and she was starting to pant with exertion.

"This is bloody ridiculous," she gasped, pulling along side him.

"So, now you want to talk to me?" he snarked. "Aren't you worried that Malfoy or Zabini will see us together?"

"Just stop for five seconds!" She couldn't keep this up forever.

"Sorry, Parkinson, but my time just became extremely valuable. You'll have to make an appointment."

Well, that was quite enough. Pansy's foot abruptly shot out and caught on Dean's ankle. He made a squeak of surprise as he fell forward. His hands outstretched to catch himself, but he suffered from his own speed and tumbled forward gracelessly. He collided against the wall with a muffled cry. Pansy stood over him, gasping for breath, as she waited for him to recover. Dean finally raised his head and stared at her, looking dumbfounded.

"You tripped me."

"I'm sorry, but you were being unreasonable."

Dean blinked at her. "Do you always resort to physical violence when you don't get your way?" She could tell that he still meant to be angry, but a hint of admiration made its way into his voice. Pansy tried not to smile. He'd obviously forgotten when she'd broken his nose with that stupid Muggle ball.

"If given no other choice," she said pointedly.

"Well, what do you want, then?" he asked, returning to a more surly state.

Pansy opened her mouth and then closed it, finding herself at something of a loss. Now that she had his full attention, she was unsure of what she wanted to say. "Um…"

Dean gave her a disbelieving look. "You did have a reason for tripping me, right?"

"Of course I did," she said quickly. "I just… Well, I just wanted to tell you that… Um…" She flushed, feeling like a fool.

"Wow. This is so awkward that you must be attempting to apologize," he said, his mouth twitching rebelliously.

She frowned, annoyed. "Look, I just wanted to say that Draco had no right to pull… what he did." There were other things that she must have intended to say, but that was the only thing that came immediately to mind.

Even the tiniest bit of amusement evaporated from Dean's face at the mention of Draco. "Ah, yes. Malfoy," he said flatly. "That reminds me. You lied to me."

Pansy was surprised. Had she? She couldn't think of any outright lies that she had ever told him. "I haven't lied to you," she said somewhat uncertainly. It was always possible…

Dean grunted and got to his feet with some aid from the wall. "You told me that you weren't with Malfoy."

Pansy had to hold back her cringe. If only she had a knut for every time someone accused her of that. "Dean, I'm _not_."

His face clouded with anger. "What do you take me for?"

"Calm down," she said nervously, glancing around to make sure they were still alone.

"Why should I? You've been playing me for a fool, Pansy!"

"You've been playing yourself for one," she said unkindly. "I don't know what's been running through your head, but—"

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. "Stop acting like this is all one-sided! Pansy, you _kissed_ me."

Bloody _Dean_. Growling with irritation, she grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him over to the nearest door and shoved him inside. Thankfully, the classroom was empty, because she would have had some awkward explaining to do if there were a class in session. She locked the door and turned to face him.

"Do you _ever_ think before you open your big mouth?" she asked, exasperated. He couldn't just go around yelling incriminations like that.

He gave her a baleful look. "Do you ever speak without consulting Malfoy first?"

Pansy swallowed down her hurt, because she was more concerned with the way that Dean was looking at her than with his actual words. "I'm not his girlfriend," she said quietly.

Dean didn't look like he believed her, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm _not_."

"Then what was with the possessive act?" he demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

How to even begin to explain that? Normally, she wouldn't even bother. "Look, you have to understand that Draco and I… Well… We have this kind of… _close_ friendship," she said lamely. "You could say that he was just being protective."

"Except that it would be a _lie_?"

Pansy's patience was officially gone. "Bloody hell, Dean! I don't _have_ to justify my friendships to you. I just wanted to apologize for the way he acted and to say that it wasn't personal."

"You keep _saying_ that, Pansy, but everything that involves you and me is going to be personal now."

Shaking her head, she took a step backward. "It can't be anymore," she said sadly. The stakes just seemed to climb higher and higher. "I am sorry, and I just wanted to tell you that."

Dean's eyes were the size of saucers. "That's it? _Malfoy_ is _all_ that you're sorry for? And now you're just going to cut and run?" He started looking around in a crazed manner and even glanced under one of the desks. "Are we on some kind of reality show? Are you putting me on, or do you actually believe the things that you say?"

She glared at him. "You know I don't know what that is!"

Dean crossed the small room and invaded her personal space. She tried to edge away, but her back collided with the door. "You're _not_ sorry for the way you just treated me in front of your friend? Or about the way that _you_ stood by and let Malfoy slash into me? _None_ of that strikes you as something you should feel _contrite_ about?"

"No," she said, glaring defiantly up into his eyes. "All of those things were your fault, because you walked right into them. You can't pull that shite with Zabini and Malfoy and expect me to clean up for you. You have no idea what it's like for me on a regular day without you coming around and making things harder!"

Dean gave up on his righteous anger, probably finding it fruitless. To her surprise, he took her hands in his and gave her an imploring look. "Pansy, I don't understand why you let them dictate how you behave. You're so strong otherwise. You don't take shite from anyone else."

Pansy's hands tingled from the intimate, skin-to-skin contact, but she was once again at a loss for words. He thought she was strong? If she was so strong, then what was she doing here? With him?

Feeling a twinge of sadness, Pansy removed her hands from his and gently pushed him back. "I didn't say that this was one-sided," she said softly, "but Draco was right about one thing. Whatever this is, it has to end."

Dean's face fell, but she couldn't feel guilty when she was finally doing something right. "Why?" he asked, as if they hadn't just been yelling at each other.

Pansy sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, willing away the inevitable headache that this was all bringing on. Being so close to him made her confused, so she moved around him to the other side of the room. "Dean, I just can't be in a relationship right now. Things are… complicated."

"How are they complicated?" he said stubbornly.

"They just are!" she burst out. "I just can't have a boyfriend right now, okay?" _And it definitely can't be you_, she didn't say.

Dean sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. He looked like he still wanted to argue with her, but he lacked the energy. Pansy leaned back against one of the desks, and she traced her fingers over the woodprint so that she wouldn't have to stare directly at him anymore. The silence stretched to the point of being awkward, but neither one of them made a move to leave.

When Dean finally broke the silence, he sounded defeated. "You don't want a boyfriend. Fine." Pansy opened her mouth— to make a denial or an affirmation—and then closed it again. There wasn't any point.

"But how about a friend? A _real_ one."

Pansy gaped at him. "You want to be my _friend_?"

Dean flushed at her incredulous tone, but he nodded like the brave Gryffindor he was.

"Friend," she repeated, finding the word maladroit in her mouth. "As in tea parties and more of that football game?" She looked him up and down appraisingly. "I don't think we're in a position to swap clothes."

"Why not?" he said hopefully, edging closer. "I still have two-hundred and five bones for you to break. Or you could come back to Art Club." She made a face, and he quickly amended, "If you wanted to."

Pansy had to smile, despite herself. "You really are glutton for punishment, Thomas."

"Probably," he admitted.

She was really at a loss. What he was suggesting was ridiculous. Pansy didn't have time for friends, and she couldn't even imagine what having a friend like Dean Thomas would entail.

"I don't know," she said uncertainly.

Smiling, Dean leaned against the desk beside her. His sleeve brushed against hers, and she swallowed. "Well, let's give it a try, shall we? What do you want to talk about?"

"What?" she asked, confused both by his words and his sudden proximity.

"Well, friends don't snog, so they tend to speak to each other to pass the time." He gave her a teasing smile. "Or so I've heard."

"Oh," she said, brow furrowed. "Well, I don't want to do that."

Dean smacked his forehead. "Why is everything so hard with you?"

"Why do you keep asking that?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Because the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result," he muttered.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Cute."

"Think so?" he said, his gaze warm.

She groaned and slid down the row of desks to put some space between them. "None of that."

Dean shrugged. "Can I write to you over the break? I promise my letters will be completely flirt-free."

Pansy didn't believe him, but she still considered it, because she wanted to think about it, even though she recognized it for an impossibility. Even as she temporarily indulged herself, a thread of fear was seeping into the illusion. She saw in her mind's eye the consequences of someone finding out that he was writing to her. It couldn't happen. What would her father say? What if someone _else_ was paying attention? She didn't know about that, and she didn't want to find out the hard way. Or any way at all…

"No," she said sadly. "You can't write to me."

Dean pouted in a way that would have been cute in any other situation. "Why not?"

She only looked at him, and his expression hardened in realization. He averted his gaze to somewhere over her shoulder, and he shook his head in what was most likely disgust. Pansy cringed slightly, but her frustration warred with her disappointment. What exactly did Dean expect of her? It wasn't her fault. There was nothing she could _do_ about their situation. Why didn't he _see_ that?

"So, I guess meeting your parents is out?" he said with a bitter smile.

She shuddered. "You're not being funny."

"No, but then, I'm not feeling very funny right now."

His eyes shifted back to hers, and Pansy's chest tightened at what she saw reflected there. She dropped her own gaze to the floor, and she heard Dean sigh.

"Is it always going to be like this? Hiding in empty classrooms and dark corridors? Having to sneak around whenever I want to talk to you?"

Pansy had no answer for him. Or else she just couldn't bear to tell him the truth. _He_ was the one that wanted to try for something impossible. She told him that it wasn't going to work.

The silence stretched again between them, and she waited for him to admit defeat and leave. What he wanted wasn't ever going to happen. Idealistic notions weren't going to stand up against what they were facing, and she wasn't fooling herself about any _just-friends_ notion. He shouldn't either.

Dean was going to leave. He had to. She told herself that she wouldn't be disappointed. It would be a stark relief to have all of _this_ over with. He couldn't comprehend it in its entirety, but she could. She didn't want to be dealing with this. There were so many other things to take precedence over self-stirred teenage drama.

Dean finally did move, but it wasn't towards the door. He slid down the desks until he was once again beside her. She frowned when he lightly bumped her arm.

"Can I at least wish you an early Happy Christmas?" he said, smiling ruefully.

He wasn't leaving. He was actually going to put up with this. The emotion that rose within her couldn't be described as either disappointment _or_ relief. Bloody Thomas. Pansy took a measuring breath before she said, "You can wish me anything you like." _Because if wishes were horses_…

She felt the brush of Dean's lips against the shell of her ear.

"Happy Christmas, Pansy."

She shivered and closed her eyes.

_TBC..._


	8. The Surest is Cowardice

**Disclaimer**: J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. own all Harry Potter related trademark.

**Author's Note**: Don't be confused by the first half of this chapter. You didn't miss anything. The answers behind the melodrama are in the second part of this chapter. This one is all Draco and Pansy. Dean will make another appearance in the next chapter!

**Warning**: As you know by now, FE is firmly AU after GoF, though certain elements from the succeeding books have been incorporated.

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For all of the loyal readers who, even after years of idleness, cared enough to persist in nagging me for an update. Particularly the lovely Bob Jones. This one's for you.

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**Forgivable Expectations**

**Chapter 8: **_**The Surest is Cowardice**_

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"There are several good protections against temptations, but the surest is cowardice."

—Mark Twain, _Following the Equator_.

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In the midst of the winter holidays, Pansy found herself making the most difficult decision of her life over a plate of lukewarm toast.

Huddled in her favorite quilt, supposedly handmade by her long-since deceased grandmother, she sat perched up on her window ledge beside her plate of toast. She had pushed open the double window panels so that the cold, snow-laced air consensually infiltrated her bedroom. A white blanket had fallen over Westbury, and Pansy felt compelled to invite it inside with her. The atmosphere suited her mood.

Her breath puffed visibly as he stared forlornly across the room at her latest painting, her hands convulsively clutching and releasing the fabric across her knees. The painting was a swirl of tormented purples and blacks with an annoying smidgen of gold and red in the center.

No surprise: it was Dean. And even through the angry strokes driven by her mood, he still came out smiling. When she contemplated creating an angry Dean, her mind inevitably took her back to their conversation from just before the holidays began. The memory made her stomach knot up, so she gave in to the inevitable and painted a smiling Dean, despite herself. She felt that she captured him fairly well, but therein lied the problem.

Pansy shed the protective warmth of her quilt and the icy draft of the windowsill so that she could move closer to the easel. She took one last moment to appreciate it. Working on this painting had been the only thing to calm the manic depression she had labored under ever since returning home. She stuffed a final slice of toast into her mouth and picked up a brush. Yet another sacrifice to be made.

She was about to smear a streak of black paint over Dean's indomitably cheerful face when her bedroom door abruptly smashed open and she dropped the brush with a start.

Violet Parkinson came flouncing into her daughter's room, bringing with her a cloud of sickly perfume and undesired energy.

"Oh," she said, relaxing slightly. "It's you."

"_Oh, it's you_," her mother mocked. "Who else were you expecting?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "What do you want?" She shot a nervous glance at the painting.

"It's freezing in here, you silly girl," Violet complained, ignoring her. "Why is the bloody window open?" She didn't wait for a response, instead rushing forward with, "But it's nice to see that you're out of bed at least."

"I've been out of bed for hours." She was surprised to see her mother in her bedroom. They usually reserved their minimal chatter for the dining room or chance encounters in the hallways. Dressed immaculately in heels and tailored robes, she appeared particularly out of place in Pansy's messy, paint-smeared corner of the Parkinson residence. In fact, she appeared even more put-together than usual. What was the occasion?

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's already getting dark." With the advent of winter, the days had grown shorter.

"Oh, well, I must have been confused by the fact that you're still wearing your pajamas." Violet narrowed her eyes disapprovingly, and Pansy ingested that disapproval into an itchy restlessness that made her next retort harsher than it may have been otherwise.

"I guess it's early enough for me to be surprised that you've already emerged from your gin cloud. Special occasion?"

Her mother lost her suspiciously cheerful demeanor instantly, her expression souring, and Pansy almost regretted opening her mouth. "Don't you talk to me like that, Pansy Marie!" she snapped. "I'm your mother, damn it!"

Pansy cringed at the use of the middle name. "Sorry," she muttered. She might have gone too far, but she doubted that any real damage had been done to her mother's not-so-delicate sensibilities.

Proving her right, Violet's feathers quickly unruffled at the apology and her expression sweetened again. She turned her back on Pansy to study her reflection in her daughter's full-length mirror. She beamed when it told her in its high, squeaky voice that she looked "stunning."

"Did you come in here to see my sycophantic mirror, or did you need something else? Or are you just lost?"

"Very amusing, dear," she said absently while fluffing her hair. "For your information, I'm heading out to tea with Caradine Bulstrode. While it was on my mind, I wanted to make sure that you're still playing nice with her daughter."

Playing nice? Pansy could sometimes go days without thinking about it, but then she would turn a corner and all of a sudden she would once again feel the press of her foot upon Millicent's fleshy neck. The fear and the hate, inward and outward, would rise up, and she would have to sit down and force herself to breathe again. "Of course," she lied.

"That's good," Violet said, finally turning back to her. "Because we have to play nice with those insipid cows now that your father's been passed over. Which reminds me. You've been home for almost two weeks now. How come we haven't seen hide nor hair of Draco?"

Pansy's heart gave a painful squeeze. She turned away from her mother, wishing that Violet was still focused on her own reflection rather than her burning face. Hoping to distract her, she grabbed the latest issue of _The Daily Prophet_ from where it was resting on her desk. She held it up so that her mother could see the front page.

Standing before the massive fountain on their front lawn, the Malfoys scowled out at them from their photograph. Their angry expressions were likely due to the fact that the Ministry was busy raiding their manor in the background. Again. Somehow, they managed to still look imperious even when they must have felt humiliated and degraded at having all those Muggle-lovers trolling through their home.

There would be no illegal rituals taking place at Malfoy Manor this holiday. Pansy couldn't even pretend that she wasn't relieved.

Her mother snatched the newspaper from her and skimmed the article with eager eyes. Pansy jumped in surprise when her mother let loose a sudden shriek of a laugh.

"Hah!" she crowed triumphantly. "Narcissa's wearing that bloody unicorn stole she was lording over us at Maybelle's. This is right fantastic."

"It is?"

"Yes, those Malfoys could use being taken down a peg," she said gleefully. She plopped herself onto Pansy's unmade bed, bouncing with excitement like a child. "Let's see Narcissa stick her nose up at us now!"

Pansy refrained from mentioning that Ministry raids had never stopped Narcissa before. She supposed that her mother was still annoyed at being snubbed an invitation to Narcissa's teas. Pansy knew it still bothered her. She might have sympathized with Narcissa's aversion to her mother's company if she didn't feel certain that those teas were really about status rather than for the sake of enjoying each other's company. Caradine Bulstrode was probably the recipient of one of those coveted invitations these days.

The very idea of Violet Parkinson having to humble herself before Millicent's mother made Pansy's fists clench at her sides. She didn't think she could ever prostrate herself at someone's feet as her mother was apparently willing to do. Certainly not for something as inane as _tea_.

"If you hate the Malfoys so much, then I don't understand why you'd want Draco to visit," she muttered.

"Don't be stupid," Violet said.

She didn't seem inclined to say anything further on the matter, but Pansy felt compelled to push the matter. "I'm serious, Mother."

Violet's stare was blank, but it made Pansy feel naked and exposed. She didn't really want to say what she did next, but it came out unbidden anyway.

"Is it really worth it if it means tying ourselves to the Malfoys?"

Violet's face wrinkled in confusion. "'It'? What is this 'it'? Is _what_ worth it?"

"You know," Pansy said uncomfortably. "Everything."

Abruptly somber, Violet extricated herself from Pansy's sheets and got to her feet. Without meeting her eyes, she smoothed out her robes and took her time in answering. "Are you trying to say," she said finally, "that you don't want to marry Draco anymore?" Her tone spoke a clear warning that it better not be what she was trying to say.

That was a good question, but Pansy didn't really know what she was trying to say or what she wanted her mother to admit. Nonetheless, she sensed somehow that she was running out of opportunities to discuss the course her life would take, and this realization brought on the panic attacks that plagued both her dreams and her waking hours.

"Is that what you're trying to say?" Violet demanded. "Because if it is, you're your cousin Julian—"

"No!" she cried. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair rather to avoid using it to strangle her mother. "That's not it." She couldn't even contemplate Cousin Julian at that moment. The idea of marrying a stranger and living in a foreign country was too bizarre, even for her.

"Then _what_?" Her mother's patience with her was obviously wearing thin.

How to explain to her mother that she feared becoming her? A woman desperately in love with a man who had little interest in her despite the fact that with his mere presence in her life he had completely skewed her life's path, something unavoidable when considering his own life and certain _affiliations_.

Who might her mother have been if she had not married Clyde Parkinson? Still, a glance at her mother quelled whatever sympathetic fantasies her imagination might have conjured for her. Looking at Violet, her ridiculous, overly self-involved mother, it was impossible to imagine her as anything but what she was. Pansy supposed there was some comfort in the idea that Violet was unlikely to have been a better parent to any imaginary children she might have had in the could-have-beens.

Pansy's childhood had been lonely, so much so that she could barely remember anything else before meeting Draco. But her relationship with her parents being what it was, she felt relieved that there had been no siblings. Why bring anyone else into this mess?

Still, she sometimes yearned for the confidante a sibling would provide, someone she could trust in a way that was impossible with anyone else in her life. Maybe that yearning was what had initially drawn her in the first place to Draco, another lonely child who seemed to need her just as much as she needed him? Had she created a soul mate simply by wishing for one so badly?

She was so disturbed by the implications of her line of thought that she barely registered her mother pressing past her until she was leaning out the window, shouting, "Hallo, Draco! Come inside! We're upstairs in Pansy's room!"

Before she could think about it, Pansy was already dashing to the window, inadvertently shoving her mother over, to confirm. Sure enough, Draco was waving up at them from the front porch. His broom was resting against the side of the house.

_Oh, no_, she thought despairingly. What was he doing there? Wait. Had her mother just invited him up to her bedroom? Experiencing a jolt of panic, Pansy leapt forward to grab her cap. Had Draco seen when she stuck her head out the window? No, it happened too quickly. She tugged the cap onto her head as low as possible and tucked up the loose strands of hair up into the cap as best she could.

She paused when she realized that her mother was giving her a smug look that clearly said, _See_ _what you get_? It made Pansy's blood boil. "_Don't_."

Violet rolled her eyes and moved to the door. "I'll send him up," she said coyly, as if she hadn't just done that.

Her mind buzzed with panic. Pansy barely had time to locate and throw a sheet over the painting of Dean before Draco breezed into her room with the abruptness of a bucket of cold water over her head. She froze guiltily.

"Your mother's in high spirits," he said, grinning as he unwrapped his long scarf from around his neck. His pale face was pink from the cold. Tufts of his blonde hair peaked out from underneath the ridiculous fur cap she had threatened many a time to burn.

Her throat felt tight just from looking at him, so she dropped her eyes to the floor and saw that the paint from her fallen brush was still splattered on the floor where she'd dropped it. Pansy took the opportunity to grab a rag. She dropped down to the floor and tackled the mess made by her fallen brush. Any excuse not to look at him.

Draco made a face and then started rewrapping his scarf twice as tight around his neck. "It's bloody freezing in here! Why do you have the window open?"

"Paint fumes," she said shortly.

He shook his head in exasperation before crossing the room to pull the shutters shut. "Then why are you painting, you silly bint?"

That was the second time she had been called "silly" in the course of the last ten minutes. Pansy felt like stamping her foot in futile protest. Instead, her scrubbing became furious. It was too soon for this, and she definitely wasn't ready to see him yet. It could have been mere hours ago that he'd…

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her tone as he planted himself in the same spot her mother had just vacated on her bed, making her wish that her room held some furniture other than her bed and the desk chair currently encumbered by paint supplies.

"Why, I'm doing just fine, Pansy, thanks for asking."

Her eyes slid to the fallen newspaper that her mother must have dropped without bothering to pick up. She felt an odd mixture of guilt and exasperation. "I heard about the raid," she admitted reluctantly.

"Bollocks, the lot of it," he sneered. "Ridiculous waste of time. Those incompetent Muggle-lovers will never find anything. They can show up as many times as they like."

Pansy hated to ask, but she felt the question was unavoidable. "What about the spell ingredients for… you know." She refused to say "resurrection spell" even in the privacy of her own bedroom. She had once told Blaise that paranoia implied irrationality, and she wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to secretly slip a spy device into her things. No, not after their last encounter, which had undoubtedly taken years off of her life.

"Safe, of course. I'm hardly stupid enough to just leave them lying about. Like I said, it was a huge waste of time. But those cheeky bastards actually ripped right into our presents! Took them right out from under the tree. They claimed that the presents were fair game under the search warrant. Father was absolutely furious, and Christmas was ruined."

Pansy didn't doubt that. Thankfully, Draco didn't seem particularly upset beyond the understandable indignation about the whole mess, which relieved her. She couldn't be his shoulder of support right now. She could barely stand to look at him, let alone comfort him.

"Oh, that reminds me!" he said, fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a small package. A flick of his wand engorged the package into what turned out to be a gift wrapped in green paper. He tossed the gift to her, and Pansy caught it instinctively. She was bemused by a closer inspection of the gift. It looked as if a child had put it together, with paper tapped together messily and a tiny silver bow topping the tiny absurdity.

"What is this?"

"What do you think? It's your Christmas present, stupid." He seemed embarrassed, and she wondered if he had done the wrapping himself. She stripped the paper off without comment.

It was her memo box. She frowned, feeling strangely unrelieved at having it returned. "Did you steal this back from Filch?"

"No, this is a replacement. I figured you could start filling it back up with all those ridiculous notes you write to yourself."

Pansy didn't know what to say. She didn't get him a present this year.

Draco didn't seem to notice her lack of reaction or reciprocation. Already moving on to his next thought, he whipped from his deflated pocket a folded sheet of parchment and waved it triumphantly before her. "This holiday hasn't been a complete waste. You'd get a kick out of this, Pansy. Here, read it. Patil is finally cracking," he said, unintentionally making a stab into a fresh wound.

Pansy abruptly smacked her rag against the floor, startling Draco into finally realizing that she was down on her knees. "What are you doing down there?"

"What does it look like?" she snapped, rising to her feet. She angrily tossed the rag at her desk chair and barely restrained herself from hurling Draco's gift in a similar manner. "You know, you could have sent this by owl. You didn't have to come over here."

Draco's eyes widened, and Pansy felt her face begin to burn again. But she wouldn't take it back, nor would she apologize. He never should have come. Not after what he did.

Draco slowly stood up from her bed, eyeing her as he might a beast bearing its fangs. "What is with this attitude?" he demanded with barely concealed anger. "I thought I was imagining that you were being a right cow on the train ride home, but you've been ignoring my letters, and you're _still_ being a cow.

And what the bloody hell happened to your head?"

Pansy's hand went involuntarily to her head, and she realized that her scrubbing had loosened her cap. "I cut it," she said shortly. She gave up the ruse and tugged the cap from her head, revealing hastily shorn hair.

Draco looked horrified. "Did you trim it with a rusty knife?"

She glared at him. "Truly, it was sweet of you to visit, but there must be somewhere _else_ you're wanted," she said icily.

Draco was too busy staring in horrified fascination at her hair to bother with her gibe. "Pansy, why did you do that? Have you lost your mind?"

He had unintentionally hit the mark. In the first few days following _the incident_, she had felt her hold on sanity start to slip. All her dreams for the future felt cracked, and she began to panic. With no one to confide in, the feeling only got worse as she sat alone in her room. At her worst moment, she found herself staring into her mirror, the realization dawning that it had all been for nothing. Nothing she did would ever be enough. And that was when she had reached for the scissors.

Her parents had been mortified, and Pansy didn't blame them. It had been a mad thing to do. She couldn't have explained it if she wanted to, except to say that her world had been shrinking and claustrophobia had set in.

Her bedroom was beginning to feel claustrophobic _now_.

Pansy suddenly couldn't bear to be in her room anymore, especially not with Draco filling up so much of its space. She snatched her quilt from where it had fallen on the floor and headed for the door. "If that's all you have to say to me, then kindly shove off," she announced as she left the room.

She barely made it halfway down the staircase before Draco came bounding down after her. "_Pansy_," he said, grabbing her arm. "This is the last time that I'm going to ask. _What is your problem_?"

Pansy stared up at him, considering. She opened her mouth to say who knew what, but the words died as soon as she remembered that they were standing in the middle of the stairway and that her parents could be anywhere within hearing range.

She sighed, suddenly feeling tired enough to give in at least part way. "I'm going for a walk," she said. She didn't expressly invite him to join her, but she assumed that he would.

Pansy didn't bother with her coat. She trusted her quilt to be enough as she shoved open the heavy front door and headed outside, finally giving herself fully to the chill.

Draco followed.

The white snow crunched beneath their feet as they made their way towards the somber silhouettes of the trees that laid the distance. Beyond those trees laid the Muggle village of Westbury. Any moment and they would hear the bells from the fourteenth-century church that stood at the heart of the town. The bells were the Parkinsons' only true connection to the town, since they never ventured down the hill and the anti-Muggle wards kept the townspeople at bay. She snuck down to the town a few times when she was much younger, but her parents finally caught her. The punishment was severe enough to deter further visits.

Smothered by the soft layer of snow, the world fell quiet beyond her house. The silence would reign until the bells broke through, announcing the new hour. Pansy was still fond of the bells. They made her think of home, even if she didn't particularly enjoy being there. Her parents and the isolation of their home aside, Pansy loved Westbury. She still had no idea why her parents had chosen to move there from the suburb of Manchester that she barely remembered, but she used to privately joke to herself that West Wiltshire was as close to the Malfoys as her parents dared go. Why else would they move there?

She didn't think it was funny anymore.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The cold worked its way through her body, proving her foolish for only bringing her quilt for protection, and Draco's quiet puffs beside her made thick steam clouds before they evaporated into the air. Pansy was loathed to break their fragile silence, but it was almost as unbearable not speaking as it was otherwise.

"What did you mean when you said that Patil was 'cracking'?" she finally asked. "Did you mean that she's falling in love with you? Is that it?"

Draco was startled by the suddenness of her seemingly random question. He eyed her cautiously before allowing a hint of his smug smile. "Well, since you asked—"

"I didn't ask," she interrupted. "I mean, I did, but I don't want to know."

He frowned. "Then why did you ask?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "It doesn't matter. Maybe I asked because I wanted to tell you that I didn't want to know."

If Draco looked concerned before, then his expression relayed that he was downright questioning her sanity now.

When the bells finally carried up the hill, she stopped Draco with a hand on his arm. He moved to say something, but Pansy shushed him. He was obviously frustrated with her odd behaviors, but he waited as she savored the sounds.

The chorus was all too short, and then silence descended again. Pansy was left wondering how quiet the world would be without muggles in it, if the Dark Lord won. It was almost impossible to imagine, even in the frozen silences of Westbury.

She turned away from the trees and the silence, now fully facing Draco for what could end up being the most important conversation they would ever have. It was the conversation she had been avoiding for years. Her eyes greedily scanned his familiar features as if she might be denied them later, and she was suddenly remembering why she didn't want to see him yet.

Pansy sighed in defeat. "Draco, if I promised to be honest with you, then do you think that you could be honest with me? Could you do that for me?"

He was scanning her face, too, no doubt looking for answers to all of the unspoken questions she had no doubt burdened him with in the last few minutes. "I suppose," he said suspiciously.

"All right." She mentally steeled herself. "Do you really not know why I haven't answered your letters?"

Draco sighed, and Pansy realized that he did know. "Is that what all of this is about?"

She met his gaze without flinching, but she tugged her quilt tighter around her as if she could keep the chill from reaching her heart.

"Pans," he said, smiling. "You know it doesn't—"

"Mean anything? Yeah, I've heard that one before, but it isn't going to cut it this time."

If Draco was surprised at her boldness, then he had nothing on her. She had never forced the issue before. But Pansy had spent weeks more or less alone in her own head with only her paranoid, desolate thoughts for company, and she felt understandably restless and undeniably barmy as a result of it. The status quo no longer seemed bearable.

"Cut it?" he echoed. "What is that supposed to mean?" There was a defensive edge to his tone that Pansy had feared this conversation would bring about.

"Draco, I'm tired of this game that we play. I don't want to play anymore."

She stepped closer and gripped the lapels of his jacket, tugging him nearer. The fear rushed in so quickly that she almost lost her nerve. But one look at his endearingly befuddled expression, and she knew that excuse wasn't going to cut it anymore either. She took a steadying breath and then forged ahead with what they both knew to be true.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy," she whispered into the air between them. The words weren't new, not even between them, but at that particular moment in the snow, beneath the glittering stars, and in the wake of the bells, they felt newborn. If she could have left it at that, then she might have even felt free.

But Draco was gaping at her as if he had never seen a crazier person than her. "I know that," he said uneasily. "You know I—"

"No, please don't that," she pleaded. "I'm not talking about anything we've dealt with before. This isn't those casual conversations about arranged marriages that may or may not happen. I'm _in_ love with you. I've always been in love with you, and it was never because you were the most prestigious or convenient option. You've never been convenient a day in your life, Draco Malfoy, and no amount of prestige would be enough to justify how difficult you are."

"No, don't look at me like that. Because I love you anyway, and I think you know that. Everyone else seems to," she said helplessly. "But it's not enough anymore to be in this by myself. I know your life's ambition is to become your father, but I can't become my mother."

Draco gripped her shoulders and bent his head to meet her eyes entreatingly. "Pansy, where is this _coming_ from? Is this because of the Quidditch match?"

Yes. And no.

"Are you really so insecure? Over Patil?"

Oh, yes. Padma Patil was everything Pansy wasn't. She was effortlessly beautiful, intelligent, kind, and, worst of all, she had somehow managed to procure Draco's attention longer than anyone else ever had. And even if she weren't all of those things, then Pansy still would have felt ridiculous standing there, freezing in her pajamas and her quilt, with her shorn hair, and asking Draco Malfoy to love her. But if he didn't love her now, then he never would. Living on hope hadn't done much for her so far, and if her mother's life was any indication, then it never would. She felt in her bones that this was it, their defining moment.

Pansy could have left it at that. Judging by his expression, she had laid enough on Draco for one day. But she was on a roll, feeding off the high of liberation that came from finally releasing the denial and the lies.

Her voice was threatening to crack. She fought it, wanting to remain strong, but she couldn't keep the vulnerability from showing in her voice. "I couldn't do the rest of it if I didn't know that you loved me," she murmured, finally dropping her eyes from his down to where her fingers clutched his jacket.

"Not the Dark Lord," she continued. "Not any of it. That level of commitment… I don't know how our parents did it, because Merlin knows that I haven't seen them give as much of themselves to anything or anyone else. Maybe it was motivated purely by fear? I don't know. But I can't do it, Draco. Not like them."

But Draco had finally had enough. "That's enough," he said, and his tone brooked no room for argument. He released one of her shoulders so that he could firmly cup her chin and force her to look him in the eye. His gaze was hard. She wondered if it she had earned such a look with her confession of loving him or for her disloyalty to the cause. "You don't realize what you're saying."

Unfortunately, Pansy wasn't finished. They had to deal with everything at once, whether they liked it or not, because all of their issues were hopelessly intertwined. She had already gone too far to stop halfway now.

They were standing so close that Pansy was pressed into him, and they were sharing the same small tuft of air. From far away, they probably seemed to be embracing. But Pansy could feel the tension in his body, and it was far from romantic. If for no other reason, then she was grateful for the proximity because it allowed her to whisper what she said next, rather than to shout it hysterically at his retreating back, which she may very well have done at this point.

"If we're going to do this," she said, "then I'm not going in blind, and I won't let you either." Resigned, Draco released her chin. His hand fell back to her shoulder.

"This task your father gave us? We're not clever or lucky enough to pull it off." Draco jerked at that, and Pansy rushed forward desperately, "No, not even you! We're going to get caught, Draco. Even if it isn't this time, then it will be the next. Eventually, _we will get caught_. And it won't be a glorious revolution. It will be just us and our prison cells or our dementor's kiss. We can't win." The world had changed since the last war, it didn't belong to the purebloods anymore, and it wouldn't let them win. She'd known it for a long time, but she hadn't been willing to acknowledge the truth because Draco seemed incapable of acknowledging it for himself.

Draco was still holding onto her shoulders, his fingers clenched painfully into her flesh, so when she shook him gently by the lapels for emphasis, she shook them both. "I need you to realize that. I want you to know that I'm doing this with the knowledge that we're going to get caught, and I'm doing it for you. Not for the Dark Lord. For _you_."

And there it was, the truth. Her message finally delivered, Pansy sagged against him. She let her head fall forehead so that her forehead was pressed into his chest. She felt exhausted, but she waited patiently for Draco to process her words.

When several moments passed by in silence, she lifted her head to see that he was staring somewhere over her head. His whole body was stiff. Pansy lifted a hand with the intention of caressing some of the tension from his mouth, but her touch seemed to wake him from whatever thoughts he had abandoned her for.

Draco practically shoved Pansy away in his haste to disentangle himself from her. Shocked, she stumbled back, her quilt falling from her shoulders to the snow.

She watched helplessly as he retreated several feet and turned his back on her. Everything about his posture told her that he was ready to escape from her and from this conversation. Maybe she had pushed him too far in her need to unload. She waited, feeling immune to further penetration from the cold when it had already won its victory from her. She felt as if she would never be warm again.

Draco rounded on her. "What the hell am I supposed to say to all of that?" he exploded, his arms jerking in spasms against his sides with barely contained frustration.

"Say that you love me," she pleaded, but she pleaded without much hope. Draco's behavior was telling her more than enough. It was funny, but she hadn't realized until this very moment that she was expecting a very different outcome from this conversation. Well, it was funny in a desolating kind of way.

"Say that you'll stop messing around with all of those other girls, and say that you're ready to make a commitment to me. To us. Make it real, Draco." No more empty pantomimes of a relationship.

"You can't just… just… say all of these things! Damn it, Pansy!"

She shrugged, unsure of what else to do.

Draco started pacing back and forth, upsetting the gentle blanket of snow beneath his feet. He shook his head, suddenly looking everywhere but at her. He paused and held out a hand towards her as if he could hold her words at bay, maybe keep her at bay. "And if I'm not?" he asked.

"What?"

Draco finally allowed himself to meet her eyes, his rapid movements stilling. Her breath caught in preparation of what she knew was coming. "What if I'm not ready?"

Pansy's heart sank the rest of the way down past her shoes and into the snow beneath her feet. She lowered her head and focused her gaze on the snow as she battled back the tears. "Then you have to let me go," she whispered.

Draco looked pained. "How do I do that?"

With each word, she felt her heart breaking off into another piece. "You have to stop acting like we're something that we're not," she told him. "No more kissing or touching me. No more talking about getting married. You would have to respect the fact that I wouldn't want to see or speak to you for a while."

She barely restrained a sob. "You would have to leave me alone. You'd have to be a man and accept that I don't belong to you and that it's none of your business who I choose to be with."

Draco's head shot up, and she was surprised to see that he looked furious. "Oh, now I see," he seethed. "This is about Thomas."

Pansy gave a frustrated cry. "_No_, Draco, you bloody fool! This is about us! Don't you get it? I _can't do this _anymore. Loving you makes me hate myself!"

Draco's eyes widened. Pansy's hand shot to her mouth, but it was too late to take it back. She tried to apologize, but the words wouldn't come. Maybe because she wasn't truly sorry.

"I see," he said softly.

The tears finally flowed down her cheeks. She picked up her quilt and angrily wiped at them. "I know it's a lot to ask," she said through her muffled snuffles. "So, you think about it, about what I'm asking for and what it means for you. But Draco, if you decide that I'm not what you want, that _we're_ not what you want, then that's it. We're finished. I don't want you to speak to me. Just leave me alone."

She left him there in the snow with her ultimatum as she trotted back to the house.

She didn't look back.

*

*

_Two Weeks Ago…_

The Quidditch pitch was utterly freezing.

She felt certain that it was absolutely sadistic to have matches in early December when they would be forced to endure ice blocks for bleachers and frost-bitten winds if they wanted to see the last Quidditch match before the holidays. As much as she might have liked to, Pansy could hardly sit this one out when the match was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

She enjoyed this particular match-up best. There wasn't the same bitterness that usually followed a match against Gryffindor (well, Potter). Nor was there the admittedly unfair sense of entitlement to a victory over Hufflepuff or the embarrassed indignation that resulted if they didn't get one. No, a match against Ravenclaw somehow felt more balanced. A victory was a victory. A loss was a loss. Each would feel deserved. She doubted the Ravenclaws considered a loss against them to be so trivial, but she didn't care. There were so few things in her life that weren't hampered by constant, cutthroat competition, so she would take her baggage-free entertainment where she could get it. Competition with Ravenclaw felt healthy.

Draco was currently coasting just above their heads. She didn't have a pair of binoculars on hand, but she assumed that his eyes were scouring the pitch for that coveted glint of gold. Since she was already in such an oddly good mood, Pansy even allowed herself to feel somewhat excited for him. This wasn't a match against the seemingly undefeatable Potter. Draco could actually win this one for Slytherin, and Pansy had a strong sense that he would.

She grinned up at him even though he couldn't see her from way above them. Things had been tense between them ever since she had more or less threatened to hex him in his own bed due to his pathological lying and manipulation— petty things like that. But watching him up in the air, in his natural element, she felt relieved. Draco looked like a normal boy playing his favorite sport and less like a fledgling Death Eater who was going to lead them all to the gallows. Watching him now, she remembered why she fell in love with him in the first place.

"He's spotted it!" someone cried.

Sure enough, Draco was diving, and the Ravenclaw seeker was hot on his tail. They were almost neck in neck as they cut through the air towards the ground. They were dangerously close to collision when Draco abruptly pulled up, his fist held high.

Pansy laughed. He did it!

The stands erupted into a cacophony. Her housemates were on their feet, cheering. Draco did a loop around the pitch. He was grinning.

Still smiling, Pansy stood and leaned forward over the side of the bleachers in preparation for his toss. The two of them had a tradition that they'd kept ever since Draco had joined the Slytherin Quidditch team. When he managed to catch the snitch, he would toss it to her and then she would toss it back. It was a silly, pointless tradition and it probably added fuel to the rumor mill that they were romantically involved, but she didn't care because it was theirs. He had never said as much, but she assumed that it was Draco's way of sharing his victory with her.

"What is he doing?" Alyssa asked suddenly. She was sitting on Pansy's right side, with Blaise to her left, just like always. They were in their usual spot in the front row so that Pansy could reach for the snitch without hindrance.

Alyssa's question brought her gaze back to the sky. Why was Draco ascending to the wrong side of the pitch?

The Ravenclaws were booing him, but Draco stubbornly hovered over the front row where— Oh. Where Padma was sitting. What he did next sent the noise from the crowd into a frenzy.

Not only did he toss an astonished Padma his captured prize, but he managed to angle himself on his broom so that he could tug Padma forward into a hard kiss. In front of everyone.

Cold, hard shock stabbed into her chest. She vaguely registered the rude boos and catcalls that were exploding from the surrounding stands, juxtaposed with the tense silence that had settled around her. She felt eyes on the back of her neck, and there was a startled noise somewhere directly behind her that sounded suspiciously like Patchouli Baddock.

Pansy couldn't move, not even to reach over and slap Patchouli for having the audacity to feel sorry for her. Her hand wouldn't even clench, still open in her lap in preparation to receive Draco's toss, just like always.

But no. He was still kissing Padma. _He was still kissing Padma._

"For Merlin's sake, Parkinson!" Blaise snapped near her ear, her breath hot against Pansy's cheek. "Sit down already. You're embarrassing yourself."

Pansy stared at her blankly. It wasn't until Theodore's piercing laugh rose above the silence of the front row, effortlessly canceling it out, that she finally snapped out of her emotional paralysis. She whipped her head around to glare at Theodore, and her expression must have been frightening because he actually looked startled.

As she sat back in her seat, Pansy felt the blood rushing into her face right alongside the cold rage. She felt feverish with it.

On the other side of the pitch, Padma was running out of the Ravenclaw box, presumably in embarrassment. Pansy wished that she cold run away, too, but she didn't share the luxury of that option. If she ran away now, then she might as well throw herself over the edge of their box and plummet down to her death. Oh, and she wanted to.

Draco seemed unperturbed by Padma's hasty retreat as he lowered his broom to the ground. He was grinning.

"I heard that she's been tutoring him," Blaise said.

But Padma said that she wouldn't tutor him. Pansy was there. She heard her say that. Didn't she?

"I wish he'd tutor me," Belinda Oakley grumbled from her seat behind Pansy.

"There's no point in tutoring the village bicycle," Blaise said loudly, without bothering to turn around. Belinda made a choking noise.

Theodore leaned forward over Raquel's shoulder from his seat behind her. "He's been doing more than tutoring her," he said, leering.

Raquel shoved him off of her. She turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting a row up from Theodore. "Is that true?"

Pansy turned to see their faces as they answered, but Crabbe and Goyle avoided her eyes, looking uncomfortable. Their tacit discomfort was answer enough.

"Oh, cheer up, Pansy," Alyssa entreated as she faced forward again. "It's Malfoy! You know it doesn't mean anything. At least it's not the Gryffindor one!" She sounded rather confused by the whole thing. After all, this was really nothing new— huge public audience aside. Draco was hardly a saint, and he seemed to enjoy humiliating Pansy, supposing that he bothered to think of her at all. He probably didn't.

"You're wasting your breath, Nott," Raquel said from beside Blaise. "Pansy knows that she's just been humiliated in front of the entire school. Don't you?" She leaned past Blaise and smiled sweetly at Pansy. "After all, everyone thinks they're dating."

"Not anymore," Belinda said, if only to show Blaise that her barb hadn't deterred her shameless eavesdropping. Someone, probably Patchouli, shushed her.

Pansy ignored them all. She couldn't focus on anything at the moment other than the puzzle pieces suddenly slipping into place in her recollection. The boys obviously knew more than she did. She must have been utterly blind to goings-ons lately if Blaise and Theodore both knew more about what Draco was up to than she did. She would have— should have— noticed this was happening right under her nose if she hadn't been so distracted by Dean.

But, really, how could she have known? There was no evidence that his relationship with Padma had progressed beyond Draco's undesired flirtations. She _smacked_ him.

But the evidence to the contrary was right in front of her. There must have been hints…

Alyssa tried again. "She ran away, right? That's good, isn't it?"

Pansy was far from assured. How could she be when she had noticed something that Alyssa had apparently missed?

"Honestly, what's the big deal?" Alyssa muttered, obviously frustrated with Pansy's lack of response.

The big deal was that this was Pansy's tradition with him, and everyone knew it. Draco was changing the rules on her, the rules of his own game. He had never intentionally allowed his flirtations with other girls to spread into their relationship before. To suppose that they wouldn't was naïve of him, but there was something to be said for his intentions at least.

The big deal was that Padma, who was nothing like those other girls and who Pansy suspected had a certain level of integrity, hadn't pushed him away.

And Draco hadn't mentioned anything about Padma to her. At all.

This was different.

* * *


	9. Deadlock

Title: _Forgivable Expectations._

Author: Starvinbohemian (Jubilee3).

Pairings: Pansy/Draco, Pansy/Dean.

Rating: PG-13.

Summary: Pansy has to lose part of herself in order to find herself again.

_**Forgivable Expectations**_

_**Chapter 9: Deadlock **_

"_Enemies, as well as lovers, come to resemble each other over a period of time_."

—Sydney J. Harris.

_Deadlock_: a standstill resulting from the opposition of two unrelenting forces or factions.

* * *

The winter still present in the air made the light breeze brisk against her cheeks.

Pansy tugged her scarf tighter around her neck, but she still shivered. The warm compartments in the Hogwarts Express beckoned invitingly to her, but she couldn't go inside yet. Not until—

There. Pansy froze at the sight of the familiar blonde head. Draco was still saying goodbye to his parents. He hadn't spotted her yet.

Pansy had been dreading this moment for days, and it took every ounce of her willpower to keep her from running away from this. She waited, frozen to the platform, as Draco finished hugging his mother and shaking his father's hand. She watched as he levitated his luggage and turned towards—

Her. Even across the platform, she knew he gasped because she felt it in her own throat as their eyes met. It was Draco's turn to freeze. She held her breath, waiting, as time narrowed down to this and the world drained to black and white.

Draco looked as if he might say something, though he was still too far away for her to hear him. He took a wobbly step toward her, but then he stopped again. There had been a flash of something, some unidentifiable emotion, on his face when he first spotted her, but he seemed to catch himself because he then instantly locked his reaction away from her.

It was then that Pansy instinctively knew that this had been a mistake. He wasn't ready for this. But her sympathy was limited because Pansy hadn't been ready for this either. Putting all the power into Draco's hands was the biggest gamble of her life so far. For better or worse, this was their fork in the road. They would either move past it together or apart. Her ultimatum had been clear:

"_I know it's a lot to ask … So, you think about it, about what I'm asking for and what it means for you. But Draco, if you decide that I'm not what you want, that we're not what you want, then that's it. We're finished. I don't want you to speak to me. Just leave me alone." _

And time was up.

She waited.

Then, she didn't have to wait anymore because he was moving. He turned away from her and disappeared into a crowd of bustling students. There and then gone, just like that.

The world sped up again in a burst of cruel, pulsating color.

Pansy let her gaze sink down to the ground where it settled on a nondescript patch of sunlight. She stayed like that for several moments as people around her rushed past and families gave final, boisterous goodbyes. She heard them, but the sounds seemed to echo from somewhere far away. It wasn't until she heard the train blare a warning that she finally came out of her stupor.

She calmly bent forward and picked up her single traveling case and then turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction from which Draco had gone. So be it.

As she entered a car at the back of the train, it occurred to her that this would be the first time in seven years that she rode the Hogwarts Express without her friends— something she suspected would become the norm. Pansy endured being squeezed and shoved from all sides before she found an empty compartment. Typically, she would have counted on Blaise or Raquel to bully out any students unfortunate enough to have inhabited the compartment she wanted. But this time she had only herself and no desire to exert the energy required to bully anyone.

By the time she was safely ensconced in her compartment, she was sweating and her hair was a mess beneath her wool cap. Miserable, she slumped onto the seat and stared out the window. She had resented her friends so often lately that it had become a reflex. But she never really considered how lonely it would be without them. "Pathetic, Parkinson," she muttered to herself.

Still… She imagined they were probably torturing some Gryffindors at that very moment, and she was missing out. Or Draco could have been spinning the raid at Malfoy Manor into some finely tuned hero worship of his father. She could practically hear him now: "Father had those aurors running in circles!" Right.

Now thoroughly depressed, Pansy sank even lower in her seat so that her cheek smooshed against the window pane. The ultimatum had been hers, she knew, but that didn't make the resulting silence from him any easier to bear. She hadn't heard a word from him since that evening in the snow. However, Draco didn't really need words to get his point across, did he?

No. He didn't. Walking away from her sent the message loud and clear. Ultimatum given and answer received. The end. Except… Well, maybe a part of her had never really believed Draco would let her go, no matter what she said.

_More fool me_, she thought.

Pansy took a deep, shuddering breath. Everything was going to change now. Everything she'd ever wanted, ever worked for… gone. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed away the panic she felt bubbling up again. She'd known this was a possible outcome when she'd given the ultimatum, and part of her even knew that this wasn't really the end of the world. But that didn't explain why her eyes were misting up.

"Oi! I think there's an empty one here!"

Pansy wasn't prepared for the door to abruptly slid open and reveal Seamus Finnegan's laughing face. His laughter and smile died when he saw her. "Never mind. There's a Slytherin in here."

Caught off guard, Pansy ripped her cheek from the window— _ouch_— and straightened. She quickly averted her face and hastily wiped at her eyes. "That's right," she croaked. "So run along, Finnegan." She didn't think he could see the cheek-shaped smudge on the window pane, but she leaned forward to block the spot just in case.

Really, she should have been prepared for Dean to pop his head in next. Everywhere Dean went, Finnegan wasn't far behind, and vice versa. She still wasn't prepared, though.

He did a double-take when he saw her, but he recovered quickly. "Cheers, Pansy," he said.

She inwardly winced at the casual use of her name in front of Finnegan, but the only response she gave was to grunt at him before turning back to the window. She hoped they would take the hint and go away because she was in no mood for this.

"All alone, Parkinson?" Finnegan asked, dashing her hopes. The lack of hostility in his voice caught her attention immediately— and, wow, even she had to admit how sad that was.

"I think I saw your lot two cars back," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Her lot. Right. At least Finnegan looked as uncomfortable with this small gesture as Pansy felt receiving it. Dean seemed surprised but happily so.

"Would it be all right if we sat in here?" he asked, smiling hopefully.

Before Pansy could object, Finnegan threw up his hands and laughed uneasily. "Nah, mate. I think I'll just leave you two kids alone."

Pansy's mouth fell open.

"Deano, I'll see you back at Hogwarts, yeah?"

"Sure, mate," Dean said. He was still grinning as he slid the door closed and sat across from her. "So, how was… your…?" His voice trailed off at the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

Pansy's fingers clenched into the seat cushions. She had to grip the fabric or else risk hurling something solid at his head. "Why don't you tell _me_, _Deano_? Why did Finnegan act just now as if he knows something about us?"

Dean rubbed his head sheepishly. "Um…"

He didn't really have to say any more than that. Great. Just great. Horrified, Pansy dropped her face into her hands and groaned through her fingers. Her situation was already bad enough without Gryffindors knowing her business. Pathetic as she was, Bulstrode was enough of a worry all by her lonesome. "Damn, I hate my life," she muttered.

"What?"

"Who else knows?" she demanded.

"Come on, Pansy—"

"_Tell_ me, Thomas!"

Dean's face sobered at the genuine anger in her voice. He sat back and crossed his arms defensively. "You mean, _besides_ the Art Club?"

Pansy had almost forgotten about them. "Besides them," she said with a careless wave of her hand. Aside from Terry Boot, none of those artsy tossers had ever posed any kind of threat to her.

He glared at her. "No one else."

Well, that was a relief. But still… "What possessed you to tell anyone at all?"

Dean scoffed, and she realized he was angry now, too. "In case you've forgotten, Malfoy _accosted_ me right in front of Seamus and countless other people. If you were hoping for subtlety, then you should take it up with him."

"Draco accosts a lot of people! You could have made up any kind of explanation! You didn't have to tell him the truth!"

"Not everyone makes a habit of lying to their friends. But, really, it's charming how ashamed of me you are. Good to know."

Pansy stared at him in disbelief. "Are you seriously moralizing at me right now? How nice for you that your friendships are uncomplicated, but I don't have that luxury. That's not how _my_ world works, and you can't be that naïve."

"Have you ever even considered that this situation might be awkward for me, too?" he challenged. "Do you think _my_ friends would jump for joy at the prospect of you and me?"

Once faced with the question, Pansy realized that she had never really considered what Dean's friends would think. She hadn't given much thought to Dean's life at all beyond their shared interest in art and each other. Then again, in her defense, she never thought any of them would ever find out, period. At least, she hoped they wouldn't. So much for that.

"Then you should understand that it's _complicated_," she said with a pointed look.

Irritated as he was with her, she had him there. Dean slumped in defeat. "Why are you alone in here anyway?" he grumbled. "Where are your cronies?"

"I don't know where my _cronies_ are," she said sourly. "I didn't want to sit with them because…" She hesitated. Should she tell him?

"Because why?"

Pansy considered the matter and then decided telling him made no difference at this point. "Well, Draco and I aren't exactly speaking at the moment," she muttered as if admitting a dirty secret. She didn't bother explaining the rest of the convoluted politics involved because she doubted he would understand.

When he didn't say anything, Pansy snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye. She wasn't necessarily expecting a certain kind of response from him, but she certainly expected _some_ kind of reaction other than the blank stare she received. "Well? Did you hear what I said?"

"Oh, I heard you all right."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Thomas!" she squeaked indignantly. "Don't pretend you don't care!"

"So, we're back to _Thomas_ now? No more _Dean_?"

She didn't dignify that with a response.

Dean sighed, and she realized they weren't finished being angry at each other yet. "What do you want me to say? That I'm jealous? That I'm relieved?" He shrugged as if to say, _I give up_, though the frustration in his eyes said otherwise. "So, what does that mean, Pansy? Are you telling me that you two had a fight? Over me? Is that it?"

"Not exactly…"

"Then _what_?" he exploded, causing her to flinch at the sudden volume of his voice.

"Where do you get off being such a bastard all of a sudden?" she cried. If he were going to raise his voice, then she could give just as easily in kind.

"I'm not allowed to get frustrated?"

"No! I thought you'd be pleased to know that Draco is finally out of my life! Silly me! I thought you gave a toss, but apparently I was wrong—"

"Wait!" he said, pausing her with a gesture of his hand. "What did you say?"

"That I thought you gave a toss—"

"No, no! That other thing! About Malfoy."

"That he's finally out of my life?"

Dean blinked incredulously at her. "He is? Why didn't you say so?"

"I did say so! I said we weren't speaking anymore because we're finished. Our friendship, I mean."

"That is _not_ what you said."

"Who cares what I said, Thomas?" she snapped.

Dean gave her an inscrutable look that made her squirm uncomfortably. She couldn't tell if he were pleased or not, but he damn well should be. "You really broke up with Malfoy?"

"I was never with him!" she protested in a voice much squeakier than she intended. "I told you that! Did you think I was lying?" He wouldn't be the first, but she still felt indignant.

Looking unconvinced, Dean shrugged. "You and I were both there that day, and the only way that bastard could have been more clear in staking his claim is if he had actually pissed on you."

Pansy's mouth fell open.

"And you didn't exactly protest," he said bitterly.

She near slapped him. Her outrage must have been plain on her face, because Dean immediately looked apologetic. "Pansy—"

"No," she hissed, standing so that she towered over him. "You shut up and listen to me now. I am _no_ one's property. _Least_ of all Draco's." But even that almost felt like a lie, and realizing that made her feel sick.

Once again, Dean did the last thing she expected him to do. He took her clenched fist in his hands and gently unclenched her fingers one by one. "You're right," he said soothingly. "That came out wrong, and I'm sorry."

He was giving in? Just like that? She searched his face for signs of condescension but felt caught off guard when she found none.

Still angry, though perhaps more at herself now than at him, she hovered, unsure, in the center of the compartment until Dean tugged her down so that she was sitting next to him. She barely bothered to put up a token protest.

"I was never with him," she repeated sullenly. She didn't add that he had no right to be upset even if she were. Or that if Draco had made a different decision just minutes earlier, they wouldn't even be having this conversation. Though, she did feel a twinge of guilt for that.

"Look, I have to ask you something."

She could tell that Dean didn't want to say what he was about to, and her stomach knotted in anticipation. "Then ask."

However reluctant, once he got going, the accusations poured out of him like the release of a dam. "If you're only friends, then why does he— no, why do you _both_ act the way you do? Most people at this school are under the impression that you're together, and you can't blame them because you _act_ as if you're a couple. I can barely get a moment alone with you because Malfoy seems to lurk around every corner. Did you know that he sent me threatening letters through the owl post?"

She didn't know that, but she couldn't tell him so because Dean was still rambling. "He usually makes a big deal out of giving you the snitch every time your house wins a Quidditch game, even though he gave the last one to Padma Patil. Which, by the way, makes him look like a total _wanker_. It's unsportsmanlike to fly around, celebrating like a ponce, after one victory. If he played football, then I can tell you—"

Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Focus, Thomas."

"And…" Here he sputtered, losing some of his steam. "And Terry told me he saw you two kissing in the library."

That bastard Boot again. Was there no privacy to be had at this school?

Dean scowled. "And you're not denying it."

She couldn't. "Look, it's _complicated_, okay?"

"You keep saying that!"

"It's still true!"

"_How_ is it complicated?" he persisted.

"We've already had this conversation! I thought we were past this."

"Well, we're not because you never gave me a real answer, just some bullshit about not being able to have a boyfriend."

Pansy didn't even know where to begin. She couldn't tell him the truth. Not the whole truth anyway. "We've been friends our whole lives," she attempted, consciously editing herself.

"You already said that, too."

"You obviously weren't listening! So, are you going to shut up now and let me actually explain or not?"

Dean just glared at her.

"Anyway, like I was saying," she said pointedly. "Our whole lives is a long time. And maybe, over the years, some feelings got… confused." That alone was as much as she had ever confessed to anyone. Not that anyone with eyes in their heads couldn't see that they were more than friends, what with Draco snogging her all over the place. The bastard.

She could feel herself beginning to get choked up, so she rushed forward with, "But there were times when we could only trust each other. Maybe that's why we can sometimes be overly… protective of each other. But—"

Dean snorted, interrupting her. "_Possessive_, you mean."

"If that's what you want to call it…"

"Is there any _other_ way to describe it?"

"But we were never anything other than friends," she finished lamely. Was that a lie, too? Yes. And no.

Dean made a face as if he had just heard something unsavory. "You know, you and Malfoy… I'm getting the feeling that maybe I don't want to hear this after all."

"You asked!" she said defensively. "And maybe it's none of your business anyway."

"Maybe it isn't."

"Why is all of this suddenly so important to you?" she demanded. "I don't recall you asking all these questions before. If you thought Draco was my boyfriend, then you certainly had no problem with it when you _snogged_ me!"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. You win. Can we please talk about something other than Malfoy?"

"Fine!"

Neither of them spoke at all for several minutes as they sulked in mutual silence. Pansy was having a hard time justifying to herself why she was even still in the compartment with him. This was perhaps the most honest conversation they had ever shared, and it was going appallingly. Usually mild mannered, Dean was being a complete tosser for some reason. She didn't need this additional stress on top of everything else. But she couldn't bring herself to actually stand up and leave.

"How was your holiday?" Dean eventually tried.

"Spectacular," she deadpanned.

"What did you do?"

Hmn. Cried her weight in tears? "The usual Christmas things."

Dean raised an eyebrow at her. "You can't be more descriptive?"

She wasn't feeling particularly ready to move onto small talk. "Food, presents, tinsel. Descriptive enough?"

Dean dropped his face into his hands. "Merlin's sake, you're being impossible!"

She eyed him warily. She seemed to be bringing out the worst in him today. "What exactly do you want from me?"

He gave a sour laugh. "I want us to have a conversation like normal people."

"I think we've already established that what you deem to be normal is nowhere near my definition," she muttered. Another reason to just get up and walk out of here, she thought dejectedly.

"Why don't you try asking me how _my_ holiday was?"

"I assume it was just glorious," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, it wasn't."

Surprised, she looked at him— _really_ looked at him for the first time since he had come barging into her compartment, and she realized that there was something sad about his expression. "Oh?"

"My parents fought the entire holiday, and my aunt Mildred got drunk and set fire to the Christmas tree. It seems like no matter what I do, I can't get everyone to just sit down and have a nice holiday, and it's like that every year."

Pansy didn't know what to say. Without ever really thinking about it, she had always just assumed that Dean came from the kind of warm and snuggly family that she only glimpsed on postcards. If not, then how did he end up so… so _Dean_?

Feeling worn down and out, Pansy rubbed at her eyes tiredly. After everything she was going through in her own life, did she even have enough of herself to spare for this? "You win, Thomas," she murmured.

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

She lowered her hand and gave him a long, measuring stare. "I had a shit holiday, too," she admitted.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Look, I'm sorry. I just… Have you ever felt as if the whole world was allied against you?"

Dean snickered, and Pansy felt her defenses rise up. "What's so funny?"

"I just love when people ask 'have you ever' questions. Because the answer never matters since the point of the question is to reveal something about the person asking the question."

She scowled. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"I hate you," she said, slumping.

"Oh, I don't think that's true."

They sat in together in silence for several moments, but this time the silence was companionable. Pansy ignored it when Dean's hand brushed against her own, but when his fingers laced together with hers, she groaned. "Don't touch me, Thomas," she said grumpily, though she made no effort to move her hand away.

"Okay," he said. His hand didn't move either.

This thing between them became more and more impossible every day. She knew that, but she was having a really bad day. At least, that was how she was going to justify this to herself later.

"What did Finnegan say about us when you told him?" she finally asked.

"That I'm barmy."

"You are."

"Yeah, probably."

"So why, Thomas?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "You don't exactly make it easy, Pansy. But for some reason, I think we could really be something. Something worth it. Don't ask me _why_," he teased, smiling, "but I do."

The temperature of the compartment seemed to spike as Pansy's body flushed with warmth. He thought they could be something worth it? Merlin, this boy really was barmy. But his insanity didn't explain why her face was suddenly burning. Without really thinking about it, she tugged the heavy, too-warm cap from her head. However, the expression on Dean's face instantly reminded her of why she was wearing the cap to begin with.

"You cut your hair!"

Pansy grimaced and averted her eyes. "Yeah, and it looks as if I trimmed it with a rusty knife," she said, echoing Draco's words to her. "Go ahead and say it."

She jumped in surprise at the feel of Dean's hand against her neck. Her flush deepened as he fingered the jagged strands. "It's different, but believe it or not, I think it works for you. Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, swallowing down the lump that was suddenly swelling in her throat. "Absolutely nothing at all."

* * *

Pansy put off going up to the dorm as long as she possibly could, which turned out to be about fifteen minutes of dawdling around corridors until she got bored.

She wasn't afraid of facing her roommates, but the uncertainty of it all bothered her. She had no idea what Draco would have told them. Her pride shriveled just thinking about their knowing how she had cut herself open and spilled out all her pride onto Draco's lap.

She ascended the stairs slowly, taking the time to build up her shields before she entered the room. She also straightened her cap to hide her shorn hair as best she could.

They were already assembled inside, chatting as they unpacked their things, but they fell silent at the creak of the opening door. _Here we go_, Pansy thought to herself.

Waiting for someone to break the ice, she met their stares in turn with a confidence she didn't necessarily feel. That is, until—

"Oh, it's just Pansy," Blaise said dismissively, turning back to her luggage.

She choked on her held breath. What?

"We thought you were Bulstrode," Raquel explained. "We were just discussing all the new and fabulous ways we're going to torture her this term." She flashed a Cheshire grin Pansy's way that might have given her pause if she gave a fig about Bulstrode right then.

"Yes, and I'm already bored of the subject," Alyssa said from her place in front of her vanity. She smacked her bright red lips in the mirror and then turned to Pansy with a spastic shake of her head. "Well?"

She stared at her until she realized that Alyssa was referring to the new auburn curls that bounced on her shoulders where straight hair used to be. She had an expectant look on her face that told Pansy she was looking for a compliment.

Alyssa pouted when Pansy offered her nothing. "What do you _think_?" she finally prompted.

Pansy didn't bother telling her that she gave even less of a shit about this than she did about Bulstrode. Her roommates finally had enough emotional ammo to stage a bloody coup against her, and they wanted to talk about hair?

"Why are you standing there like that?" Blaise snapped. "Close the door already."

Pansy felt befuddled enough to actually obey. Shutting the door, she wandered over to her bed, all the while eyeing her roommates suspiciously.

"Oh, Pansy!" Raquel said so suddenly that Pansy jumped. "Look what I found in Diagon Alley." She tossed Pansy something small that she almost instinctively dodged, but ended up catching. It was a vial of aquamarine paint.

"For me?" she asked, surprised.

Raquel rolled her eyes. "Because _I_ love painting so much."

"I don't have this color," Pansy said absently. She held the vial away from her body as if it might suddenly explode on her.

"Thought so," Raquel said, looking smug.

"And my nan sent you her annual Christmas fudge," Alyssa said, pointing to a open tin that had been placed on her pillow.

"Half the chocolate is gone," she said, confused. She couldn't figure out their game, and surprisingly thoughtful gifts and half-eaten chocolate tins made even less sense to her at the moment. She hadn't gotten them anything.

"Oh, that was my present to you," Blaise purred. "I figured I was doing you a favor by eating some of that fudge. You know how much weight you put on over the holidays."

Pansy almost snapped the paint vial in half. It was beginning to dawn on her that Draco hadn't told them a thing, and she hadn't walked into a hostile situation at all— well, no more hostile than usual.

She already knew the answer when she blurted out, "Didn't Draco tell you?"

"About what?" Blaise asked.

What, indeed. Pansy resisted the impulse to groan. It wasn't that she was disappointed… exactly. But she did feel some annoyance over the fact that he made her do even this herself, though she recognized the mercy in the gesture. Somewhat.

"Nothing much," she said with feigned nonchalance. "We're not speaking is all. Thought he would have mentioned it."

Her roommates exchanged glances. They didn't look particularly surprised.

"Is this because of the Quidditch thing?" Alyssa asked.

Pansy smoothed her quilt out over her bedspread, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. It was a disagreement, that's all."

"Well, that explains where you've been all holiday," Blaise said. "You've been off sulking somewhere."

"Have not," Pansy muttered.

Blaise raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Then where have you been? We didn't hear from you the entire holiday, and then you didn't even show up on the train."

Pansy scoffed as if that weren't a perfectly valid question. "I was late," she lied, "and I didn't feel like scouting the entire train for you nits."

"Right," Blaise sneered. "Having yourself an ickle cry in the loo because Malfoy hurt your feelings? That about right, Parkinson?"

Blaise had no way of knowing how close to the mark she was shooting, and it was a good thing, too, that she couldn't see a physical manifestation of the damage her insight caused. Pansy bit down on her tongue.

Lounging back on her bed, Raquel hovered her pillows up to the top of her canopy with a bored flick of her wand. "I don't blame you for lying low," she said. "After what Malfoy did—"

"I don't care," Pansy quickly interrupted. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"You've forgiven him already?" Raquel asked, looking disgusted. "But he _humiliated_ you—"

"Briggs!" she snapped, her patience about to shatter like glass. "Kindly shut your face." She said it as calmly as she could manage, but that probably didn't amount to much at the moment.

"_Why_ doesn't it matter?" Blaise insisted.

Pansy only hesitated a moment. "I don't give a toss about Draco Malfoy anymore. I'm over it because I'm over him. We're no longer anything to each other. It's… over."

Her roommates paused in their tasks to stare at her. The pillow fell directly onto Raquel's head. She didn't notice.

"You're over Malfoy?" Alyssa asked for all of them.

"Yes," she said solemnly.

There was a heavy silence as they digested this. To say that Pansy felt chagrined when they all burst out laughing would be an understatement. Alyssa bent backwards over her chair with the force of her laughter.

"So… full of it," Raquel gasped through her laughter.

"Oh, bugger you all!" Pansy cried, though it just made them laugh harder. "This isn't funny!"

Blaise gave Pansy's shoulder a seemingly sympathetic pat that was belied by her obvious amusement. "I'm sorry, Parkinson, but for all the years I've known you, you've been all about three things. Those three things and nothing else."

Pansy angrily jerked away from her, but that didn't deter Blaise at all. She began counting off her fingers. "Those stupid paintings of yours, Sleakeazy hair gel— which you need, by the way— _and_…" She wagged the last finger coyly. "Draco Malfoy."

"Thanks for your input, Zabini." She turned away to avoid punching Blaise in her pretty face. "But you're wrong, as usual. I'm officially moving on. He's all yours."

Blaise snorted. "You're not over Malfoy. Not you."

"Believe what you want then," she said crossly. She set about ignoring them and pretended to focus on unpacking her things. She didn't notice Blaise staring at her until she turned and accidentally bumped right into her.

Her mouth twisted into a frustrated frown. "What are you playing at?" she demanded. "No one here believes you would ever let us have Malfoy— even over your dead body. Which makes me wonder if you know something we don't…"

"Um, excuse me?" Alyssa said, waving a hand over her head. "For the record, this girl does not want Draco Malfoy. I don't even want to know how many diseases that boy's carrying by now— no, Pansy, please don't tell me. And by the way, Blaise, has anyone ever told you that you're dangerously paranoid?"

"Why don't you have some more fudge, Nott?" Blaise suggested sweetly. "It'll give your mouth something to do while us big girls have our chat."

"So," Raquel said to Pansy. "You're saying that Malfoy is officially on the market? Truly?" She was doing a horrible job of pretending to seem unaffected. There was a greedy tone to her voice that she failed to disguise.

"He was always _on_ the market," she said, "and much good it's done _you_, Briggs."

Alyssa left her vanity and came over to Pansy's side. "Seriously, Pansy. Are you feeling all right?" she asked, reaching to feel her forehead for a fever. Pansy batted her hand away.

"Well, I never thought I'd ever see _you_ grow a spine," Blaise said, though she made it clear she didn't truly believe Pansy had.

"Happy to disappoint," Pansy snapped. "Look, the truth is that Malfoy is hardly the only unicorn in the pen."

Raquel's eyes widened. "Is that what this is about? Did Miss Pansy find herself a new unicorn?" She snickered at her own joke, unable to help herself.

Pansy's face must have turned red or else her lack of response gave her away, because she suddenly had their full attention again.

"You do!" Alyssa squealed.

Leaping over from her bed, Raquel practically pounced on her. "Who is it? Is it Grant Carmichael? Because if it isn't, then it should be."

Pansy scooted down the bed to put some distance between them. "Don't be stupid. There's no one else."

Alyssa looked disappointed. "Are you sure?"

"I would know!" The stupid bints. She couldn't believe she ever thought she would miss these people.

"And you're really over Malfoy?"

Pansy sighed. "Yes."

Blaise shook her head. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Blessedly, Millicent chose that moment to join them, and her roommates' attention instantly shifted. Not so good for Millicent, but Pansy was grateful.

* * *

There was no reason for the members of Slytherin House to know that Pansy and Draco weren't speaking. At least, not as early as breakfast the next morning.

No reason except that her roommates were traitorous hags.

The second she stepped into the Great Hall, she felt the stares like hot brands on her face. She froze so suddenly in the doorway that Alyssa collided against her back— "Oh!"— and they both stumbled ungracefully forward into the room. She didn't have to hear the anonymous snickers from the room to know they were there— but she heard them nonetheless.

Face burning, Pansy righted herself with as much dignity as she could manage in that moment. She sent a scathing glance in the direction of a couple giggling Hufflepuff girls.

"Sorry," Alyssa said sheepishly.

Pansy spared her only a quick glare before turning her attention to the Slytherin table. An early riser for as long as she'd known him, Draco was already seated at the center of the table. Crabbe and Goyle were having some sort of animated conversation over Draco's head while he buttered himself a slice of toast. Theodore's head was buried in his arms and he was no doubt obnoxiously snoring.

All of this looked like a typical morning except for one thing. Every Slytherin whose name she had bothered to learn? They. Were. All. Staring. At. Her. Waiting to see what she'd do, no doubt. Except for Draco, of course. He didn't look up from his toast.

This would be the time to feel intimidated, but Pansy had prepared for this. She had two options now, and she knew the ramifications of each. She could sit as far down the table from Draco as possible, effectively separating herself from the herd and committing what would amount to social suicide akin to running away with her tail between her legs. Like Millicent, who was seated alone at the end of the table as she had been since she had betrayed them all to Dumbledore.

Yes, she could do that, or else she could face this head on and force them to acknowledge her.

Before she could do anything, Blaise brushed past her. She smirked at Pansy over her shoulder as she made her way directly to the center of the table. She must have realized Pansy's options, because she took a seat across from Draco, pointedly robbing Pansy of any hope that her so-called friends would follow her to another section of the table. Proving her point, Raquel quickly followed Blaise's example and left them to take a seat next to Theodore. That left enough spaces for two more people at the center. Just like always.

"Exactly _how_ big of a fight did you two have?" Alyssa asked nervously. She started twitching like she might dash quickly over to the table, too.

"Come on," Pansy snarled. She grabbed Alyssa's arm before the girl could abandon her and marched her straight toward the center.

"Morning!" she loudly announced, plopping herself down across from Crabbe. Her voice woke Theodore, whose head shot up just as he choked on his last snore. Pansy's greeting received only guarded stares, but she ignored the spiking tension around her in favor of piling her plate high with eggs and toast. Alyssa cautiously took the seat next to her, though her eyes darted around as if in search of another seat.

Draco continued to feign absorption in his copy of _The Daily Prophet_, but he was given away by how tightly his fingers gripped the paper.

"Morning," Patchouli finally offered from her place a few seats down from Pansy, who smiled gratefully at her. She was going to start being extra nice to Patchouli.

The tense silence could only last so long. They had wondered what Pansy would do, and now they had their answer, which was apparently _eat her breakfast. _Talk started to pick back up around them, and Pansy breathed a private sigh of relief. She could do this. All she had to do was make sure everyone knew that she wasn't going anywhere, so there would be no room for anyone to try to take her place.

Blaise looked disappointed. Her gaze moved eagerly between Pansy and Draco as she waited for something to happen. But nothing did since they were too busy ignoring each other. Blaise's disappointment gave Pansy a stab of vicious satisfaction.

But then Belinda caught her eye, and Pansy realized it was a bit early to start congratulating herself since there was more than one hungry jackal at the feast.

"So, Draco," Belinda said loudly, though her eyes remained on Pansy. "How was your holiday?" She was sitting much closer to the center than she'd dared since Pansy last put her in her place.

Draco barely glanced up at her. "Fine," he grunted. He made a show of turning the page of his paper.

Belinda wasn't deterred. "Is it true you're dating that Ravenclaw girl you snogged at the Quidditch match?"

Pansy didn't allow herself to react, but Belinda's question immediately re-snared the attention of everyone near enough to hear. Heads turned back to Draco, who finally gave up the pretence of reading his paper. His tone was frosty when he said, "Since when is it any of your business?"

Belinda looked a little cowed by his tone, but she recovered quickly. "It's not. I'm just disappointed. I guess we romantics always thought you and Pansy would make it. But if you've fallen in love with that girl, then I guess it was never meant to be."

Raquel choked on her pumpkin juice just as Theodore barked out a surprised laugh. Pansy heard someone gasp, but she couldn't look at them, because she was frozen. She couldn't breathe. Belinda had just stuck a knife in her chest.

Draco smacked his paper so hard onto the table that everyone jumped. He stood and glared imperiously down at her as if he could smite her with the power of his stare. Pansy couldn't remember the last time she had seen him so angry. "Oakley," he hissed, "you will shut your stupid mouth about things you know nothing about."

Belinda stared up at him with her mouth hanging open.

"Crabbe. Goyle."

Crabbe and Goyle needed no further direction, though Crabbe grabbed a muffin before he scuttled off after Draco. They left the Great Hall, and Pansy was fairly certain that the door would have been slammed after them in true melodramatic fashion if the door weren't too large and heavy for the gesture. Any other time, and she would have been amused.

"Nice going, Oakley," Blaise said. Unlike Pansy, she _did_ look amused. "He's probably going to have a good cry now."

Belinda muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Shove it, Zabini."

"What was that?" Blaise asked, looking far more dangerous than she had a moment before.

"Really, ladies," Theodore drawled. "Can't we ever have a civilized meal?" He still had pumpkin juice stains on his tie.

"Shut up," Blaise told him, "and find yourself a napkin. While you're at it, why don't you find one for Oakley, too, so she can wipe up her pride?"

Belinda smacked her wand down on the table. "Bitch, I'll show you pride—"

"Oh, Belinda?" Pansy said suddenly, interrupting them.

She received a suspicious look. "What?"

Pansy didn't need Blaise to stand up for her— if you could call it that— and she wouldn't let Belinda forget that. "I just noticed what a lovely new hat you're wearing," she said sweetly, indicating to the black beret on her head. "Not everyone can pull off that style." She pointedly adjusted her own hat. "Oh, but don't worry! It doesn't make your head look fat at all."

Belinda's hand jerked instinctively to her head before she caught herself. She gave Pansy a furious look.

Satisfied, Pansy shoved a big forkful of eggs into her mouth and proceeded to enjoy the rest of her breakfast.

* * *

Disentangling her life from Draco's proved to be easier said than done.

Meals aside, they also shared most of their classes, had the same friends, and lived in the same dungeon. They didn't speak to each other, but they were forced to physically _be_ together far more than Pansy guessed either of them would have liked. Manageable, however painful, but she had asked him to give her space, and now she had no choice but to allow him to concede it.

So manage they did. If one of them was in the room, then the other found somewhere else to be. She spent a lot of time in her room painting sad pictures full of doom and gloom. They laughed at separate jokes, mocked different people, and avoided all direct contact. When Draco went right, Pansy went left.

When Advanced Potions rolled around, Pansy took the initiative herself and chose a seat on the opposite side of the room from her usual seat beside Draco. Some Hufflepuff boy was miffed to lose his seat, but she didn't care about him. If Draco had a reaction to her move, then she never saw it because she didn't turn to look at him once throughout the class. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her, but he didn't say anything about her move in front of the other students. She made a mental note to avoid him in case he wanted to ask her about what was going on.

This class was the hardest for her because it was the only one they shared without anyone else from their year. Once her favorite subject, Advanced Potions now felt unbearably long and lonely. However, she knew she could adjust, given time. At least, she felt confident that she could adjust until Draco finally cornered her after exactly 2 weeks, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes, and 1,209,600 seconds of not speaking. Give or take. Not that she was counting or anything.

They regarded one another silently as the other students filed out of class. The other students might as well have been shadows for all Pansy noticed them.

"So, this is how it's going to be?" he asked, voice soft and meant only for her.

Pansy swallowed around the enormous lump in her throat. For all her bravado, she felt the weight of every one of those seconds, minutes, hours, and weeks just then. In that precarious moment, she almost gave in and called the whole thing off, almost allowed everything to slip right back to the way things used to be. She even opened her mouth to offer up surrender.

But he was standing so close to her that she couldn't help but be reminded of being pressed against him in the snow while she more or less begged him to love her. Couldn't help but be reminded that he walked away.

And she couldn't do it. Pansy steeled herself and stepped back from him. "I'm sorry" was all she said. She meant it.

Draco sighed. He didn't push her. He just left the classroom. She gave herself a collecting moment before following him.

But she only made it as far as the doorway before she was struck still again.

At the end of the corridor, Draco had met Padma. Pansy watched as they spoke quietly to one another, Draco's head bent low to hers. Pansy had no way of knowing what they were saying to each other, but there was no denying that she was witnessing an intimate moment between two people who didn't seem to notice they were standing in the middle of a crowded corridor. And then Padma smiled and tucked her hand into his.

Pansy was so overtaken by debilitating nausea that she didn't realize Padma had spotted her until the girl abruptly jerked her hand out of Draco's hold. She made a startled noise that sounded like, "Oh."

Draco turned to look back at her, and that's when Pansy turned and ran. Later, she would lament making such a pride-less exit, but just then, she needed nothing more in the world than to get as far away from Draco Malfoy as possible.

She ran without direction in mind, but she still wasn't surprised to come upon the familiar, narrow staircase to the Astronomy Tower. She took the steps two at a time, barely bothering to watch her balance as she went.

A freezing blast of wind met her as she yanked the door open to the outdoor observatory. The snow had yet to melt from the grounds, and the sky was a murky gray. She paid the cold no heed as she stomped up the short staircase to the open-air balcony with so much momentum that only the guardrail kept her from going over the side when she crashed into it.

Pansy clasped both hands over her mouth to stifle the traitorous sob she felt bubbling up behind the tightening of her throat and the burning of her eyes. She couldn't cry. Not now, not again. No, not even in the face of such stark defeat. But it hurt. It hurt so much worse than anything she had ever felt before.

Her mother's voice echoed in her head.

The same night Draco had left her standing alone in the snow, her mother came back from an evening with Carradine Bulstrode sloshed out of her mind and barely coherent. She still managed to find her way into Pansy's room. Stinking of alcohol and wearing a blissful, vacant expression, she danced around Pansy's room, bumping into things and singing songs only she could understand.

Pansy did her best to herd her mother out of her bedroom, but Violet merely twisted around and got her arms around her daughter's neck. Even up close as they were, she didn't seem to notice Pansy's swollen red eyes or downturned mouth. Rather, she laughed. Her hot, tainted breath hit Pansy's cheek as she leaned in and released the only decipherable words she'd spoken since coming into the room.

"Now's the time," her mother whispered into her ear. "Cast your net for Malfoy. He's ripe for it, Pansy, I can tell." Her jolly expression hardened. "And you'll never have to degrade yourself to that bitch, Bulstrode, ever again." Pansy guessed Violet, in her inebriated state, wasn't exactly talking about her daughter and Millicent anymore. "No more of your silly games!"

She then proceeded to pass out on Pansy's bed, which forced Pansy to seek out the comfortable sofa in her father's study for the night.

Pansy managed to swallow down the sob, but some stray tears still slid down her cheeks. They froze about halfway down. Her mother, who had no way of knowing that Pansy had already cast her net and come back empty, was a hapless twit. Why did she ever listen to anything she had to say? She never would again; that was for sure.

Pansy took several gulping breaths to calm herself down. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she wasn't this girl. She wasn't the pathetic girl who cried alone in the Astronomy Tower because the boy she loved wanted someone else. No, this was the way of fools like Lisa Turpin or Mandy Brocklehurst. Pansy hadn't sunk so low yet.

_But you're still here_, said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Blaise. _And you're still crying, Parkinson. _"Stop it," she mumbled, angrily rubbing the frozen tear tracks away. "Just stop it right now. He's not worth it."

Some part of her knew that, really, but it was hard to differentiate that part from the part that had loved Draco almost all her life. He was her best friend before he was anything else, even in fantasy. She couldn't imagine anyone ever truly knowing her the way he did. She didn't care what any stupid Zabini voice had to say about that, because she thought it had to be special, a connection like that.

Her pity party of one was interrupted by a creak of the door. For a brief moment, she thought it would be Draco. It wasn't.

It was Padma.

Pansy's position at the guardrail was protectively shielded from Padma's view by an enormous, rotating model of the solar system. The sun was also beginning to pull its rays from the room because winter days were only a fraction of the length of their endless summer counterparts. If she held herself perfectly still, then she could have blended in with the scenery. Shrouded in shadow, Pansy watched Padma shift uncomfortably in the doorway as she scanned the room for her.

"Pansy?" she called, sounding unsure. Nervous.

Pansy gave herself a moment to enjoy feeling like a cat stalking unsuspecting prey. From her strategic position, she could have hexed Padma to her heart's content, and no one would ever know— not even Padma for sure. It was a nice feeling. Made her feel better.

She finally stepped between a golden Mars and Jupiter and glared down at her mouse.

"You're looking for me?"

Padma jumped in surprise. "Oh! You scared me."

She moved out of the way of the rotating planets but kept her high ground over Padma. "How did you know I was up here?"

"When we were kids, whenever you were upset you used to climb as high as you could in that old elm by your house, remember? This tower is about as high as you can climb in this school."

Padma smiled, inviting Pansy to smile with her over shared childhood memories. She waited in vain.

"What do you want, Patil?" she asked, voice as cold as her expression. "And speak quickly."

To her credit, Padma didn't look particularly surprised. "Always the hard way, Pansy?" she said ruefully. "I guess some things never change."

Pansy just waited. There was only one possible reason for why Patil would want to speak to her, and Pansy would be damned if she were going to make this _easy_ for her.

Padma took her time getting around to it. She fidgeted and averted her eyes as she transparently attempted to build up her nerve for this conversation.

Pansy rolled her eyes with theatrical impatience as she descended the short staircase to Padma's level. "I said to _speak quickly_. You have something to say to me or not? No?" She didn't wait for a response and instead kept walking straight for the door.

"Wait!" Padma cried. She reached out as if to catch her arm. Pansy dodged her, and Padma quickly lifted her hands in surrender. "All right, all right. Can we just talk for a moment?"

"And what would we have to talk about? More stories from a misspent youth?"

"No," she said uncomfortably. "I want to talk about… Well…"

"_Yes_?" she demanded, pressing in on her. Padma's mouth worked open and closed like a gaping fish, and Pansy pressed her further. "Come _on_, spit it _out_, Patil. I don't have all day—"

"_Malfoy_, all right?" she exploded, jerking backwards to get away from her. "I want to talk about Malfoy."

Pansy felt a bitter smile spread across her face. About time. "Now, why would you possibly want to talk about _him_ with _me_?" The answer was obvious, but she wanted to hear Patil actually say it.

"I don't want to step on anybody's toes, least of all yours. I wanted to ask you, face to face, what kind of relationship you have with him. I keep hearing conflicting ideas."

Pansy didn't doubt that. "Why don't you ask _him_?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Padma blushed. "Oh, I did. It's just… You can't— I mean _I_ can't—"

"_Trust_ him?"

Padma nodded, though she had the decency to look embarrassed.

Pansy knew better than to ask, but she couldn't help herself. "What did he tell you?" And was it _before_ or _after_ Pansy and Draco had their little _talk_ in the snow?

"That you were just friends."

She wasn't going to waste time feeling disappointed.

A strange expression flitted across Padma's face. "But the way he talks about you…"

Pansy's breath caught as Padma dropped her gaze to her wringing hands. "It's not the way a friend talks about another friend," she said softly.

Pansy didn't even want to think about Draco and Padma talking about her. She couldn't.

"What are you asking me? If he was telling the truth?" Pansy shook her head in disgust. "And then what? I tell you what you want to hear, and then you and Malfoy prance off into the sunset together?"

Padma grimaced. "That's not…"

"_Yes_," she snapped. "It is. But what if I told you a different story?"

Padma's eyes widened, and Pansy barked out a cruel laugh. "Oh, come now. You wouldn't be _that_ surprised, would you? You came all the way up here to— what? Get my permission? But you wouldn't have done that unless you had an inkling that maybe he was _lying_ about us."

She expected Padma to back down, to run away like a scared, little mouse, but she met Pansy's stare head-on without flinching. "That's right," she said, voice steady. "I had an inkling, and that's why I'm here."

Much as she had suffered over this, Pansy had strangely never considered what specifically it was about Padma that attracted Draco. She wondered if this was it, the defiant gleam in those pretty eyes. She remembered the look on Draco's face after she slapped him in the library. Ambitious. Hungry.

Pansy felt a painful squeeze in the center of her chest. He never needed ambition to get her, not when she never put up any fight whatsoever. Her first mistake, or just the worst in an otherwise long list?

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart twin," she snarled.

"What?" Padma asked, frowning.

Frustration made her want to tug out clumps of her own hair. She settled for digging her nails into her palms. "You're supposed to be smart, but you fall for the same shite as all the others. You _know_ what he is. You had a front row seat to the disaster show he made of your own roommates. Yet, here you are anyway!" she cried. "But Ravenclaws are _so_ smart."

"Are we still talking about me here?" Padma asked. "What do _you_ see in him? If you're so much smarter than the rest of us, and you know what he does, then why are we even having this conversation, Pansy? Why do you still follow him around like a puppy dog?"

Pansy almost struck her— she could almost feel the satisfying crunch of Padma's perfect teeth under her fist. And, oh, she _wanted_ to. But she couldn't.

Because the little bitch was right.

She managed to unclench her fists from her sides, but she re-crossed her arms to avoid the temptation of reaching into her pocket for her wand.

"Worry about yourself, Patil," she said, turning to leave. If she didn't leave now, then she couldn't be held responsible for what might happen.

"Pansy, wait!"

She managed to grab Pansy's sleeve that time while she was too distracted to dodge her. Padma's expression was contrite. "I didn't come up here to fight. Look, we used to be friends—"

Enough was enough. Pansy's arms snapped out and shoved her— _hard_. Unprepared, Padma stumbled back against the wall. Her head cracked audibly against the stone. There wasn't time to orient herself before Pansy was advancing on her. Padma instinctively tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go except against the wall. Pansy greedily drank in the panicked expression on her face as she blocked the possibility of a sidestep with an arm on each side of her head.

"What are you doing?" she asked anxiously. Padma's eyes flitted from side to side and then back again to Pansy as she searched for an escape. For some reason, Pansy was reminded of a butterfly she had once seen trapped under a glass just before her grandfather stuck pins through its wings.

Pansy had some height on her, and she used every inch to loom at her most menacing as she said, "I'm just curious to know what you were expecting from this little vis-à-vis. Did you think you would earn a pat on the head for doing 'the right thing' and coming to me _before_ you let Draco lift your skirt?"

Padma gasped. "How dare you—"

"Save it, Patil," Pansy snarled into her face. "You aren't fooling anyone. You weren't thinking of me when you snogged Draco in front of the entire school at that Quidditch match. _Nor,_" she stressed, "were you thinking of _me_ when you swapped your pathetic love notes over the holiday— yeah, I know about those. He _told_ me, Patil. He _bragged_ about how you were finally cracking. Just like all the others."

She wanted to see Padma cry, wanted to witness a breakdown that resembled her own. Most of all, she wanted to be the reason.

But Padma didn't cry. Her eyes were bright, but she didn't cry. She stared at her for a long time, and then she did the last thing Pansy would have expected. She cupped Pansy's face in her hands and kissed her forehead.

It was such an unexpected move that she could do nothing but stare in stunned silence. Then, she remembered herself and stumbled back. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Padma shook her head sadly. "I am so sorry, Pansy. I didn't know. I wondered, but I didn't really know."

"What are you rambling about?"

"You love him."

With her hands clasped in front of her and her expression looking so genuinely sorrowful, Padma looked just like one of those Madonna paintings Pansy had seen in her art books. The patient, benevolent mother. And it was Pansy's turn to feel disoriented.

"Where did that come from?" she asked, though she couldn't have explained to what she was referring just then.

"I understand now why you'd be so confused," Padma said gently. "He can be absolutely horrid. The way he treats people… He can be unforgivably rude and cruel. The things that come out of his mouth sometimes…"

"All true so far," Pansy said, though her words lacked their previous bite. She had a bad feeling about where this was going.

As though she didn't even hear her, Padma's gaze seemed to slide somewhere beyond Pansy as a dreamy expression came over her face. "But then there's that other part of him. The depth he hides from the world because he thinks he has to be hard. He's actually really sensitive… and passionate." Her cheeks flushed with a girlish blush. "I think people miss how brilliant he is because they're distracted by his arrogance. Did you know that he's read all the great wizard philosophers? And that he loves art history?"

Pansy couldn't attest to any philosophers, but Draco didn't love art history. He humored Pansy's love of art because it made her happy, and he completely disregarded all Muggle contributions to the field. If he were able to carry on a conversation about art history, then it was due to Pansy talking his ear off.

Under typical circumstances, Pansy would have been outraged that someone would have the audacity to assume they knew Draco Malfoy better than she did. No one ever could. She knew that much. Padma was clearly spinning herself a romantic delusion staring her and Draco as the star-crossed lovers. Just like all the others. In all ways except for the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her this was different. It was the same feeling she had at the Quidditch game when Draco gave Padma her snitch.

Draco might have lied about liking art history, but he also violated a sacred tradition between them so that he could kiss her that day. And he took Padma's hand in that crowded corridor after walking away from her mere moments before. He exchanged letters with her over Christmas. He chased after her with the same single-minded drive he devoted to everything he did, but he didn't lose interest after he caught her— as he usually did.

She didn't understand how any of this had happened. One minute, she was planning her own private wing at Malfoy Manor, and then, all of a sudden, there was Padma Patil taking everything away.

Pansy and Draco were finished. Merlin, they really were.

All the anger immediately drained out of her.

Padma was still talking. "He postures for you people, but he can talk about those things with me."

"Because we just grunt at each other in my house," Pansy croaked. She had to get out of there. This was too much to deal with in front of an audience.

"That's not what I meant."

Pansy began backing away towards the door. Padma had won this battle and probably even the war, but she tossed out one last parting shot. "You can have him," she told her, "but you'll never _really_ have him. Because you'll never know him. He won't let you."

There was only pity in Padma's expression. "I already do."

* * *

A lot of things began to click for Pansy over the next few days. For instance, she realized that she didn't need Draco after all to keep her status as queen bee. For all of her pessimism, it turned out that she only really needed herself. Taking her frustrations out on everyone around her, she was meaner, scarier, and more formidable than she had ever been. She barked at anyone and everyone, made cruel jibes at other's expense, and even made a few girls cry.

She felt fantastic. Renewed.

People began to move out of her way in the corridors. Fear gave her the respect she had been denied when everyone thought she was Draco's lovelorn slave. Oh, and speaking of lovelorn slaves…

Pansy spotted Padma just as she was coming out of a class. The other girl was too busy fusing with her book bag to see Pansy approaching. That was a mistake. She glanced up just as Pansy's shoulder collided against hers, sending her books and parchments flying. Shocked, Padma clutched her bruised arm and gaped at her fallen things.

Pansy waited until she had Padma's full attention and then she smirked at her. "Oops," she said, not bothering to sound sincere. She recalled thinking once that competition against Ravenclaw felt healthy. Well, that wasn't the case anymore, but it was certainly fun.

She heard Blaise's laugh before she actually saw her. Slinking forward, she slid her arm through Pansy's and said, "I think you've dropped something, Patil."

Padma seemed to have been struck speechless, but two of her friends came to her aid. "Ignore them," said a girl Pansy didn't recognize. She glared at Pansy as she bent to help pick up Padma's things. "They're not worth it."

But Pansy was beyond the point of being shamed. Their hatred just fueled her fire, because they were powerless against her. Pansy could do this, and there wasn't anything they could do about it other than to run tattling to a professor. And what could _they_ do beyond taking a few house points away? See how Draco liked having his new pet treated like the vermin he always claimed blood traitors like the Patil family were.

"Careful, dear," Pansy told her. "Or someone might step on all your hard work."

Pansy brought her foot down on what looked like a painstakingly crafted essay and twisted her foot so that the parchment tore in half. Padma gasped just as Blaise let out another delighted laugh. Still arm-in-arm, she and Pansy pranced away, their shoes leaving dirty marks all over Padma's things.

"Oh, Pansy, I've missed you," Blaise said.

She didn't know how to respond to that, but Pansy thought she understood what Blaise meant. It felt good to hurt someone else again. She missed this. Missed herself. She had let all the drama about Draco and Dean derail her.

Powerful. Cruel. Confident. Pansy Parkinson. That was who she was. Together with Blaise, they were a force to be reckoned with. There was a reason they were at the top of the pack. The Pansy of yore wouldn't have recognized the emotional mess she'd become lately. Maybe it was time to right that.

She was still riding the high when she blindsided Dean as he was leaving a class. One minute he was walking in the corridor, and then the next, he was shoved into an empty classroom. "What the—"

He barely had time to right himself before Pansy was on him. She shoved him up against a desk and gave his tie a hard yank to bring his face down to eye-level.

"Hello, Thomas," she breathed against his mouth, and then she kissed him. Draco didn't want her, but Dean Thomas did, and Pansy was sure as hell going to enjoy him now without ever feeling guilty for it ever again.

Dean was too surprised to really kiss her back, and after a moment, he managed to push her away. "What are you _doing_?"

She wiped her mouth off on her sleeve. "What does it look like?"

Dean shook his head. "What has gotten into you lately?"

Pansy ran a hand up his arm and smiled as seductively as she could manage. "Do you really want to talk or isn't there something else we could be doing right about now?"

Unfazed, Dean pulled his arm away. "I saw what you did earlier today. How could you do that to Padma?"

Pansy was starting to get annoyed. Did he have eyes everywhere spying on her? And more importantly, why was he ruining everything? All she wanted to do was have an illicit snog in a classroom, and he wouldn't shut up. "Can I not go five minutes without talking about her?" she growled.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking concerned. "Did something happen? Is it… Malfoy again?" The name seemed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

Pansy bowed her head and made a noise that sounded like a sob.

"Oh, Pansy," Dean said, coming towards her. But when he reached out to hold her, Pansy shoved him back with all her might. Caught off guard, Dean stumbled back and half-fell into a chair in an effort to keep himself from hitting the ground. He gave her an astonished look. "What the hell?"

Smirking, she followed him to the chair and straddled his lap. Dean gasped in surprise. "Pansy!"

She laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I like it when you say my name, _Dean_."

He looked everywhere but directly at her. "What are you doing?" he squeaked.

"Showing you."

That got his attention. "Showing me what?"

The last time Pansy had done this, she had been proving a point to Draco. This was no different.

Her breath brushed his face as she leaned in close. "You know, it occurred to me just now that you don't know a thing about me. Not. A. Thing." He tried to protest, but she covered his mouth with her hand. "You have no idea what it is that I do, or think, or feel. But you _think_ you do, and that's just not on. Because you're _wrong_."

She kissed him again, and this time, Dean kissed her back. She felt his arms awkwardly curl around her. Knowing she'd won, she smiled triumphantly against his lips and then pulled away.

"But I'm starting to think I've figured out my appeal to you," she said. "You like bad girls, don't you, Dean?"

He sputtered. "Wha…"

"You _do_. And I think it's time I showed you what bad girls can do."

* * *


	10. Peace Between Us

Title: _Forgivable Expectations._

Author: Starvinbohemian (Jubilee3).

Pairings: Pansy/Draco, Pansy/Dean.

Rating: PG-13.

Summary: _"I forgot I was talking to a former member of the Inquisitor's Squad."_

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_

Forgivable Expectations

_Chapter 10: Peace Between Us_

_/  
_

"_They made peace between us. We embraced. And we have been mortal enemies ever since."_

—Alain Rene Lesage, _Le Diable Boiteux_.

_Rewind (one year)_…

/ / /

At half-past two, silence suggestive of slumber had long since settled over the house. The staff at Malfoy Manor had retired for the night with the expectation that the family had as well. Flames from the fireplace tossed tall shadow figures that danced across the stone walls.

Crouched at the top of the staircase, Pansy and Draco leaned as far forward as they could without risk of falling down the stairs.

"Can you hear anything?" she whispered. The voices from the other room were a low murmur. They strained their ears in vain for some hint of what was being said behind those closed doors.

"Not with you blabbing in my ear— ouch! Don't _pinch_ me, you—"

"What do you think they're talking about?" She attempted again to stretch her neck for a better look at the door but gave up with a wince when her muscles protested.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"

She pinched him again.

"Damn it— _Pansy_!"

"Something's happening," she said grimly. "I can feel it." It was in the air… and in the ominous whispers coming from down the hall.

"How clever of you. What tipped you off? The secret assignation in the dead of night or the clumsy way your fool father rushed over here?" He shook his head in disgust. "If even a sixteen-year-old girl could follow him here, then he might as well have gone round to ask the aurors if they fancied a trip— _ow_! Pansy, you bitch! _Stop pinching me_!"

She glared at him. "What do you mean if a _girl_ could—"

"Oh, shut it," he said with a groan.

Pansy hadn't intentionally followed her father over to Malfoy Manor. She hadn't even known he was out of bed when she herself had dressed and snuck out of the house. It was simple coincidence that she touched down her broom just outside the defensive spell boundary in time to see her father scurry through the ornate gates.

She waited long enough to see her father admitted at the front door and then she made the familiar track around the invisible wall, the steps memorized long ago. She had only triggered the spells once before. It was safe to say that being found by Lucius Malfoy in such an undignified position amounted to one of the most mortifying moments of her life. She had no intention of ever repeating the experience.

This complicated ritual could easily have been averted by simply going straight to the gates the way her father had, but the ritual had held over from their childhood. Plus, she wasn't too keen on the idea of explaining to her father or the elder Malfoys what she was doing sneaking over to visit Draco in the middle of the night.

When she explained all this to Draco, he raised an eyebrow at her. "You were planning to just pop in at this hour?"

"I wasn't sleeping," she said, feeling her cheeks pinking. "I knew you wouldn't be." Draco kept strange hours while they were on holiday breaks, and she had been woken up more than once in the middle of the night by an owl scratching at her window with some inane note.

"I should be in there," he said, shifting anxiously beside her.

Staring at the stubborn set of his jaw, Pansy felt her heart sink. He looked so sure of himself, so why did she suddenly feel so afraid? Swallowing against the tightening in her throat, she dropped her gaze to her knees where her fingers clutched the heavy wool fabric of her robe. "Is this it?" she whispered. "Is it really happening?"

Draco gave her a funny look. "I've been telling you it was coming for years."

"Yes, but it's hard to take a nine-year-old seriously when he still tries to stick toads down the back of your dress."

Her forlorn tone must have ruined the impact of her snark, because Draco looked more concerned than indignant.

"What is it?"

The war could have been beginning right down the hall from them, and he wondered what was wrong? How could she articulate her trepidation without coming off as a coward— or a traitor?

"Draco…" The words stuck in her throat, and she had to look away from his perplexed expression before she tried again. "What if I'm not ready?"

Their sides were pressed together, so she felt it when his body tensed. He shifted just fractionally, but it was enough so that their bodies no longer touched. She felt cold air rush in to replace his warmth. _Don't_, she thought. _Don't do that_. She didn't know what she would do if he pulled away from her now. Draco was the only thing in the world that made sense to her, but this whole thing felt so much bigger than them.

Draco shifted again, and their bodies came back together, even closer than before. He surprised her by taking her hand. "I'll be with you." He leaned his cheek against the crown of her head. "You'll be with me, won't you?"

Pansy felt the steady beat of his heart against her arm, and something, somewhere, shifted. She tried to swallow, though her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Yes."

/ / /

_Fast-forward (one year, two weeks)…_

/ / /

Somewhere along the beaten path— at least a mile down the green and twice around the Quidditch pitch— it finally occurred to her that this wasn't working. She stumbled to a stop with a gasped curse.

Jogging was supposed to clear her head. That was the idea anyway, why she had pulled her short hair back into a headband, donned a pair of old sweat pants, and just taken off. Alyssa jogged all the time, and her head was as empty as one could want.

Well, her sides felt as if they were about to burst, and even while she was doubled over, gasping for breath, with sweat-soaked bangs stinging her eyes— it wasn't enough. The buzzing wouldn't stop. It clouded her head and wouldn't leave her alone. Maybe she shouldn't have expected to be a champion jogger her first time out, but she was desperate to escape her own head.

Now what?

A flash of color caught her eye, and she glanced up to see one of the Quidditch players sore over the pitch. Practice must be starting. She watched for a moment, first confused and then confused at her confusion. It was such a small thing, but… Why shouldn't everyone else just go on as if nothing had happened? For them, it hadn't. Not yet.

Straightening up sent her pulse straight between her ears, but she was running again, and this time she wasn't going to stop until she was dead.

/ / /

_Wait, too far (pull back two weeks)…_

/ / /

"You know, when you said you were going to show me what, and I quote, 'bad girls can do,' I naturally assumed you meant a bit more than snogging."

She rolled her eyes, but a ridiculous grin had taken root on her face, and it robbed her words of any true punch. "Shut up. I recall a wayward hand or two, Dean Thomas, so you have _nothing_ to complain about."

He laughed, and it was such a clear, honest sound— and because of _her_— that she thought, with a flutter in her chest, _this. This is nice._ There wasn't a lot of nice in her life at the moment, so… Yeah. Nice.

Still smiling, she moved to help Dean fix his tie, which had become impossibly tangled around his neck. "You're hopeless, Thomas."

"Hmn. Good thing I have you then."

She was startled into meeting his gaze. Dean looked so smug when her cheeks turned red that she couldn't help but stretch on tip-toe to press her mouth to his already kiss-bruised lips. "Lucky you."

Pansy felt his stare as she was straightening her clothes— she _had_ let his hands wander because she was generous like that— and realized he was watching her. "What?"

"Is everything… I dunno, okay? You seemed kind of upset, um, before."

She looked away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay… that's usually what people say when there really _is_ something wrong."

Turning on her heel, Pansy pressed into him and tilted her head back to give him a coy smile. "Do I look like something's wrong?"

She tried to run her fingers up his chest, but Dean gently caught her hand. "Don't."

_Don't?_ Stung, she pulled back.

"We still need to talk about Padma."

Pansy could feel all her warm and tingly feelings begin to evaporate. "I have nothing to say about her, and I _really_ don't see why _you_ have anything to say about her."

"Padma's a friend," he said, not taking her hint.

Yeah, the warm and fuzzies were gone.

A little voice in the back of her head warned her to keep a level head, that she could still keep a lid on this instinctive rage. She ignored it. "Why am I not surprised that the Dean Thomas Collection of Annoying Friends has another addition?"

Pansy could see the annoyance manifesting on his face, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She was tired of hearing about how uncomplicated his relationships were with everyone else. "I don't need another of Patil's _friends_ waxing poetic at me about her supposed virtues," she said coldly. "If you like her so much, then you can snog _her_."

Apparently losing his own battle with patience, he snapped, "No, that's Malfoy's job."

A horrible silence followed.

"Was that supposed to hurt me?" she asked finally.

Dean's expression was guarded. "Did it?"

That… wasn't the response she was expecting. Pansy opened her mouth and then closed it again before she could say anything because, no, this was wrong. She didn't need another relationship rife with passive-aggressive taunts and insecurity channeled into bitterness. She already had one Draco in her life.

Dean was supposed to be different, and he _was_, but… Was this her fault? Did she just have this effect on people? Memories of Lisa Turpin's tear-stained face and Terry Boot's furious expression taunted her, but even self-reflection couldn't stop a massive inner eye-roll because _whatever_. But _Dean_…

Pansy grabbed her bag from where she had flung it earlier. "I'm leaving."

"Come on," he said, beginning to look contrite, "we're talking..."

"No, you were lecturing me on behalf of Saint Padma and taking cheap shots at me."

She had one foot out the door when Dean caught her arm and pulled her back. She must really be going soft, because she actually let him. "Pansy, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_, okay?"

It was definitely _not_ okay, and she went reluctantly, remaining stiff, when he tugged her into his arms. He ran soothing hands up and down her back as if he were calming a nervous horse. Pansy inwardly rolled her eyes at this, too, but she could feel herself starting to melt nonetheless. How did she end up in this mess?

"You better be," she muttered into his shirt.

"I am."

Sighing, Pansy gave in and wound her arms around his waist. She felt him relax against her. This was also nice, she decided. "Good."

"Hey, I have an idea," Dean said, and she heard the smile in his voice. "How about we don't talk about Malfoy or Padma ever again?"

Pansy smiled, too, despite herself. "Sounds good to me."

"Then we have a deal?"

She hummed her agreement.

"There's actually something else I want to talk to you about…"

Was it her imagination or did he sound nervous? "What?" she asked warily.

"Well, I was thinking that—"

"Wait," she interrupted. "Did you hear that?" Suddenly alert, she glanced over her shoulder. It sounded like…

He frowned in confusion. "What? No, I—"

"_Yes_," she snapped, pushing off him. Dean went to say something, but she held up a finger in warning. He was looking at her as if she was insane, but she had definitely heard— _there_!

Pansy immediately took off after the sound of retreating footsteps. She had heard what sounded like someone's heavy breathing. The last thing she needed on her hands was a spy, but someone had definitely seen them, and they were making a quick escape.

She darted around the corner in time to see a flash of hair over someone's shoulder as they disappeared around the next corner.

It was enough. Cursing under her breath, she didn't even bother to follow. What would be the point? _Merde_.

She sensed Dean as he approached at her back, though his steps were much softer than those of the rhinoceros that had been attempting to shadow them. "Who was that?"

Her answer was resigned.

"Bulstrode."

/ / /

Pansy had put it off for as long as she could excuse— which turned out to be longer than one might expect, but probably not longer than a week. Tops. Ironically, once she had made the decision to just get this over with, the other girl was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The common room was deserted except for Theodore, who was reading the Daily Prophet next to the fireplace. She flopped into her favorite armchair with a dramatic sigh. "You seen Bulstrode?"

Theodore's eyes barely flicked up from his newspaper. "I suppose I missed the meeting when I was appointed her guardian?"

"You could have just said no," she said sourly.

"And you could have tried actually _looking_ before succumbing to laziness."

"I _did_ look," she whined.

He made a show of turning the page. "Uh-huh."

Pansy was about to pester him some more for lack of anything better to do, but Draco chose that moment to storm into the common room. She didn't mean to perform a double-take— they had an unspoken agreement to avoid making direct eye contact these days— but she couldn't help it this time because… was that _water_?

Theodore made a low whistling noise as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Well, that's a new look."

Water drip, drip, dripped onto the stone floor around squishing shoes. They were only treated to the sight of Draco, soaking wet from head-to-toe and furious as a drowned cat, for an all too brief moment before he turned and disappeared up the stairs without a word.

Pansy and Theodore exchanged bewildered looks.

"I hope we didn't miss the break-up to end all break-ups," he said, "because that would be completely unfair."

Her fingers encountered a loose thread on the chair arm; she tugged at it. "Doubtful."

"You don't think so?" he asked, watching her.

No. Of all the things she could think… no. "He could have taken a swim in Moaning Myrtle's toilet for all I care," Pansy said with a shrug. Feeling antsy all of a sudden, she hopped out of the chair. "I'm sure he'll regal us all at dinner with a carefully biased spin on whatever happened so he doesn't look like a complete idiot."

"No doubt," he agreed with a smirk.

"And if you don't know where Bulstrode is, then I don't know why I'm wasting my time talking to you."

He ignored that. "Why are you looking for her anyway? I thought Bulstrode was _persona non grata_."

"Don't bother trying to follow our logic, Nott. You'll only hurt yourself."

Theodore waited until she was almost out of the room before he called out to her. "Did you even bother to check the library?"

Her expression must have answered his question because he rolled his eyes so hard it actually looked painful. "So _lazy_."

"Shove it," she yelled over her shoulder, already intent on her destination.

Her legs were already kind of aching from her running all over the castle. Those dungeon stairs were steep and plentiful. She was huffing by the time she pushed open the heavy doors to the library. Theodore telling her the truth shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did, but she would have looked twice if he told her the sky was blue, so…

"Is this where you've been hiding all week?"

Millicent jerked in surprise at Pansy's sudden appearance at her side. Her expression soured into a scowl when she realized who was bothering her. "What do you want?"

Pansy borrowed Draco's favorite casual pose by propping a hip against Millicent's table and crossing her arms. "To talk to you. Obviously."

The nervous way Millicent's eyes skidded around them, as if she were looking for an escape or an ally, should have made her feel powerful. She didn't feel powerful. She felt tired. "Bulstrode— err, _Millicent_, I—"

Millicent cut her off. "I don't want to talk to you." Her forehead was knitted in the most ridiculous scowl, and Pansy had to wonder how anyone could ever find this girl intimidating.

"Maybe not," Pansy said carefully, "but I think we need to talk about one thing in particular."

"Dean Thomas?"

It was Pansy's turn to glance around with a nervous twitch, though she knew they were mostly alone in the library except for the librarian and a snoring student on the other side of the room. She had made sure of privacy before approaching this conversation. "You saw me with him."

Millicent didn't bother trying to deny it. She didn't flinch either at being confronted, which made Pansy feel vaguely proud.

"Were you following us?"

"No! I wasn't spying. Why would I follow _you_? You guys were standing right out in the open."

She had a point there.

"You're lucky everyone else hasn't caught on yet," Millicent continued. "You aren't even trying to hide it anymore. I guess the only reason they haven't is because everyone is so caught up in their own bullshit."

"Maybe they're distracted because one of our own betrayed us," she said evenly.

Shamed, Millicent frowned hard at the table. "Malfoy would murder you if he could be bothered to notice," she muttered.

That shouldn't have stung as much as it did. "Draco knows," she said with no small amount of vindictiveness.

"No, you're lying. If Malfoy knew…"

"He would do what exactly? As you so kindly just reminded me, he's been a little busy lately enjoying the fruits of his own hypocrisy."

Millicent shook her head as if to clear away the cobwebs of Pansy's words. "But…"

"No buts. He and I have an understanding," she said with a definitive wave of her hand. They had more important things to discuss at the moment. "I want to make sure you and I have one as well."

Red-faced, Millicent hunched forward over her book. "I don't understand you."

"What's your point?"

"I don't have one, I guess. I just thought I knew who you were, but you're actually more duplicitous than Zabini."

"More _duplicitous_? Careful with the big words there." Worse than Blaise Zabini? Yeah, right. No one short of the Dark Lord himself was worse than Zabini in her mind.

"At least you know exactly what she is," Millicent said with evident frustration, "but you change with the scenery. One minute you're Snape's pet, aspiring Death Eater, and queen of the Slytherin bigots. Then, you're snogging a Mudblood and acting like a victim of the system— even though you work every day to keep that system!"

Pansy winced when Millicent's voice broke over her next words. "One minute, you're my friend, and then you're trying to murder me. Who the hell are you?"

Her throat suddenly felt tight. "I'm just me, Millicent," she managed. "And I didn't try to _kill_ you. Not _really_…"

Yet, there was no way to mistake the disgust on the other girl's face. "You think you can have it all, don't you? You want to have Malfoy and all the prestige that comes with him. You want to sit at the top of the hierarchy, keep Zabini as your guard dog, and all the while you'll be sneaking off to snog Dean Thomas. Are you completely off your rock? You must be if you think you can pull that off. It's a miracle you've gotten away with it this long."

Pansy sighed and dropped into the seat next to Millicent. She ignored Millicent's flinch as she scooted the chair into her personal space. "I'm going to tell you something, Bulstrode," she said in a low voice, "and if you're smarter than I give you credit for then you'll listen."

Millicent stared.

"You're probably thinking to yourself that what you know gives you some kind of power over me. Of course you are. You've been treated like shite ever since you betrayed us to Dumbledore, and here's an opportunity to make that go away, right?"

Millicent's eyes brightened with a resentful light, and Pansy knew she had hit a mark. "I wouldn't blame you for thinking like that. That's smart. I've compromised myself. That's obvious."

She paused both for dramatic effect and because even she couldn't believe what she was about to say. "The truth is that my relationship with Thomas gives me power over _you_."

Millicent made a choking sound. "If they find out what you've been doing, they'll tear you apart."

She shrugged. "They'd try."

"You don't want them to know," Millicent said with certainty. She didn't seem iimpressed with Pansy's boldness. "You'd never tell."

"You're right," Pansy allowed, "but that's not going to be a problem because you won't tell them either."

Millicent shook her head as if she couldn't believe Pansy's gall. "Why not?"

Pansy grinned, and it must have made for a frightening sight if Millicent's expression was anything to go by. "You may hate me, but you don't want to see me taken down." She jabbed a finger at Millicent's sternum. "I'll tell you why. You want the person who hates you the least to be in charge. If I'm out, then it's Zabini. This is exactly the kind of break she's been waiting for. Do you really want to see Zabini with all the power and influence of Slytherin House at her beck and call?"

Millicent's face paled, and Pansy sat back with a satisfied sigh. "I didn't think so. That's why we're going to make a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yes, you're going to keep your mouth shut or else Zabini is going to unleash the hounds of war and make your life a living hell. And I'm going to stand back and watch with unholy glee."

"That's… that's not a deal!"

"Sorry, poor choice of words. Blackmail? Yes, blackmail is what I meant."

"You…"

"I'm blackmailing your blackmail," she said cheerfully.

Millicent scrambled to her feet and began stuffing things into her bag, no doubt in preparation for making a hasty exit.

"Come on, even you have to admit this is for the best. I'll even throw in some extra incentive and tell the others to go easy on you from now on. You won't have to double-check your shampoo anymore for— what was that horrible stuff they put in there yesterday?"

Millicent glared at her. "Do you even hear yourself?" she hissed. "The person who 'hates me the least' tried to _murder_ me."

Pansy didn't bother to correct her a second time. "_Slytherin _house, Bulstrode. About time you got used to it, don't you think?"

/ / /

Theodore was twitching.

Pansy hadn't meant to stare, but it was kind of hard not to when he was radiating nervous tension like a beacon. Draco finally delivered a swift kick to Theodore's shin, and he settled down.

Her eyes narrowed. Something was happening.

She tossed a wary glance toward Blaise and Raquel, who were snickering to themselves as they flicked pieces of parchment at the back of Granger's bushy head. Same old, same old over there. Alyssa was snoring into her arms. Bulstrode... well, who cared? She wouldn't be in on it anyway. She couldn't see Crabbe or Goyle's face from her place in the back, but Crabbe's shoulders were hunched miserably. The boys knew something.

It could be nothing. Considering that it was Draco and Theodore, she probably didn't even want to know.

Then why did it feel as if a rock had just settled in her gut? She didn't like being kept out of the loop. She couldn't afford to be.

Pansy frowned when a piece of crumbled up parchment hit the side of her head. She turned slowly, prepared to give Blaise the eye of death, but it wasn't Blaise who met her gaze.

Seamus Finnegan? She glared at him, but he shrugged at her and pointed to... oh. Dean grinned at her from across the room, and she inwardly sighed. Did anyone besides Finnegan see?

"_What_?" she mouthed at him.

"_Watch_," he mouthed back. At least, she thought that's what he said.

Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. What was he doing?

Dean made sure he had her attention, and then he started fiddling with a piece of parchment, folding in the corners until it started to resemble a little person.

He teetered his wand between his fingers like a puppeteer manipulating invisible strings, and his little paper man stood and scuttled awkwardly across Dean's desk. Paper man jumped to the floor and hid behind a leg of Dean's stool.

Dean waited until Professor Sprout had turned away from them to write on the board, and then paper man made a diagonal dash between her and Dean's desks.

The whole show was so ridiculous she could only shake her head. There was no denying it at this point. She was involved with a clown.

Pansy considered refusing to be charmed, but that was probably a losing battle. Deciding to play along, she feigned a cough and knocked her quill off the desk. She was just bending to catch up Dean's creation when— _smash_— a shoe came down on him.

Startled, Pansy straightened with a snap. Dean gave her a dismayed look, but there was nothing she could do except watch helplessly as Draco bent to pick up the paper man.

Turning in his chair, Draco held her stare as he deliberately took his time unfolding the corners of the parchment. His lip curled into a sneer when he read whatever Dean had written for her.

She could feel herself beginning to crumble, but _no,_ she wouldn't because he wasn't allowed to do this to her anymore. Gripping the table hard enough to crack her fingers, she set her jaw and closed off her expression.

Without looking at her again, Draco crumbled up the note and dropped it onto the floor. The no-longer-paper-man twitched once and then stopped moving altogether.

Pansy and Dean shared a resigned glance before she dropped her chin onto folded arms with a sigh.

/ / /

She had to wait until the room had emptied before she could rescue the note.

This is what Dean's note to her said: _Astronomy Tower at lunch?_

She tore the note into several tiny pieces._  
_

Throughout her next class, the professor's voice was a distant murmur unworthy of notice, and she composed a one-sided conversation in her head.

The script employed the typical clichés, opening with an accusation— _you have no right_— following with some deflection— _you chose_ _this, not me_— and rounding off with a lie— _maybe we could be happy for each other someday_— but the script eventually trailed off when she realized that she couldn't predict his responses anymore.

In the end, she really only had one question for him.

This is what Pansy scribbled onto a piece of spare parchment in place of her typically succinct memos:

_Draco, what do you want from me?_

She thought that if she could just understand that much, then everything else would start to make sense. Maybe then they could all just _move on_ even if she didn't really know what that meant at this point. Maybe if they were different people…

She crumbled up the note before she left the classroom.

/ / /

"Can I move now?"

The paint brush drew lovingly down his spine, leaving a sea foam green trail across his dark skin. Biting her lip in concentration, she curved the line into a delicate spiral above his hipbone. "No. And don't talk."

Dean sighed and settled his face back down into his folded arms.

Pansy leaned over from her perch on his bare back to reach her cerulean blue paint. She traced an outline that could have been the ripple of water across his shoulder blades. She wasn't working with any particular goal in mind other than to capture the feeling of what was turning out to be a lovely afternoon spent in a clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and away from prying eyes.

The air was still a bit frosty, but Pansy was tired of searching out abandoned classrooms and corridors, not to mention getting _caught_ in abandoned classrooms and corridors. She had charmed the blanket beneath Dean so that it would remain warm. She liked to think that the few times she had noticed him shiver were because of her touch and not because he was bravely soldiering through the onset of hypothermia.

"If I were to look back there, would I see something nice and pleasant like Monet's water lilies or would I see something more akin to the nightmare fuel that is Francis Bacon?"

Her brush _accidentally_ slipped and poked him in the neck. "What did I say about speaking?"

Something cold brushed against her neck, and she glanced over her shoulder at the offending branch— tentacle? Branch tentacle?

The temula seemed to grin at her. The plant had grown to five times the size it was when they first inherited it. Pansy and Dean's official excuse for going out there together had been to plant him— not that anyone had asked her where she was going— but that had taken all of five minutes. There wouldn't be a believable excuse for the picture they made if anyone were to come upon them now.

"The plant is getting fresh with me," she said. Or maybe he was trying to communicate some form of distress over having been planted in the ground while it was still technically winter. Pansy had her doubts, but Professor Sprout assured them that the temuli would flourish no matter the season.

"Well, the plant has good taste."

The smirk on Dean's face was the only reason she didn't hurl something at his head. Well, that and she was enjoying being in a generally good mood. This time with Dean— when they weren't fighting, when they were just enjoying each other's company— was hers and hers alone. No obligations, peer or familial pressure, petty rivalries, crippling insecurities, or the weight of the future bearing down on her. Just a girl, a boy, and simple, _normal_ attraction coupled with innocent recreation… Well, _mostly_ innocent.

Leaning over so that her lips brushed the shell of his ear, she murmured, "It's more like Chagall's _Concert_."

She squeaked in surprise when Dean caught her arm, and suddenly she was on her back and staring up at him as he crouched over her. Déjà vu. "Um…"

"Hello."

Despite her discomfort, her heart went _bump, bump, bump_ in her chest at his smile. From this angle, she had a really good view of his strong arms. They were still warm from pressing against her charmed blanket.

"You're getting paint all over me," she said in a breathy voice.

His smile actually became a smirk as he settled over her. "It looks good on you."

Pansy rolled her eyes and then pulled him down for a kiss. One kiss became two, then three, then five, and then she lost count. Dean's hand sneaked into her hair, and she even forgot to feel self-conscious about the choppy mess she had made of it.

She was just starting to lose herself in the pleasant sensations when Dean pulled away enough to whisper against her mouth, "Want to know something?"

"No," she said, trying to kiss him again.

Dodging her, he laughed. "I'm going to tell you anyway."

She flopped back with a sigh. "Oh, if you insist on talking."

"I do."

"Then get on with it so we can get back to snogging," she teased.

"All right." Dean took a deep breath as if in preparation, and she quickly understood why. "I want to tell people about us."

_Aaaaannnd_ moment over. Pansy stiffened beneath him.

"Just a few people," he said quickly. "People that matter."

She didn't respond to that, but her face must have revealed her thoughts because Dean's happy expression quickly wilted into disappointment. The fact that he looked so hurt frightened her more than anything else because it meant he was serious.

Pansy pushed at his shoulders until he took the hint and maneuvered so that she could slide out from under him. Without looking at him, Pansy pushed off the ground and stood.

"Think about it," he urged. "We don't have any reason to feel guilty, but all this sneaking around and lying makes me feel guilty. If people knew, then we wouldn't have to sneak around so much. We could be like everyone else and—"

"And what? What would we be like?"

Dean didn't seem to detect the dangerous undercurrent in her soft voice, so he said, "I don't know— better? I could talk to you whenever I wanted. We could sit together in class and—"

"Hold hands while skipping down the corridors?" she finished nastily.

Finally catching onto her mood, Dean gave a sigh that suggested many things but not surprise. He reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it on despite the wet paint all over his back. Maybe he needed the extra armor for this conversation. He probably did.

Pansy did her best to stem all the negative feelings bubbling over inside her, but it was no easy thing. "I just got everyone who knows about us under control, and you want to start telling _more_ people?"

"What do you mean you got them 'under control'?" he asked suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "I did what I had to do to keep us safe."

Dean's eyes widened. "Safe? What are you talking about?"

He could not possibly be so naïve. Then again, he had told Seamus Finnegan about them and didn't seem at all chagrined about that. A seed of doubt wiggled itself into existence, and she looked at him with new eyes. "Do you have any idea what I've had to do to keep this thing under wraps?"

"So, we're back to you being ashamed of me," he said darkly.

There was a white noise between her ears. "Are you serious? Dean, have you not noticed what's been happening to Millicent Bulstrode lately?"

He obviously had to think about what she was referencing, which just went to prove that no one cared about the Slytherins unless they were given no other choice. "Raquel Briggs knocked ink into her lap today in class," he said slowly, "and Zabini accidentally set her hair on fire…"

_Accident_, she thought. _Right_.

His eyes widened. "Are you saying Millicent Bulstrode is being terrorized because she knows about us?"

"No, but she offers a perfect example for what happens when one of us steps out of line."

"Slytherins?"

"Did you wake up on the slow side of the bed this morning? Yes! Millicent went against the pack, and now she's being punished."

Dean shook his head, clearly at a loss. "What did she do?"

"That's… not important," she said, ignoring his disbelieving look. "The important thing here is cause and effect, and what's in the best interests of the group. She went against the interests of the group."

"I wish you could hear yourself right now," he said, "because I'm getting shivers and not the good kind."

Hurt, she lashed back, "Every house has their own way of dealing with things, Thomas! Gryffindors bitch and moan and blame everyone else for their problems. This is how Slytherins self-regulate."

He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before. "That's sick. You know that's sick, right? And… surprisingly Bolshevik."

"I don't know who that is!"

"Who? Bolshev— never mind. Actually, that doesn't surprise me. Really. At all. I forgot I was talking to a former member of the Inquisitor's Squad."

"What's your point?"

"What's _yours_? Are you saying that Bulstrode deserves all the horrible things you guys have been doing to her?"

Again, she felt the press of her foot against Millicent's windpipe and the rush of excitement and horror and… had to look away from him. "You don't know the back story," she said feebly, though even she was at a loss for how she could justify her actions in that bathroom. A little spilt ink hardly compared…

"Pansy!"

"_What?_ You can't lecture me about things you don't understand!"

Dean turned his back on her while he got his temper under control. She could see the tension in his back, and for some reason it made her angrier. What did he have to be so upset about? Dean, with his nice friends, his nice art club, and his nice life was going to stand here and judge her for the things she had to do in order to survive?

"Does this mean… do you…?" He ran a frustrated hand over his short hair. "Are we _never_ going to tell people about us?"

"No!"

Her harsh answer surprised both of them, and Pansy instantly regretted her angry tone and the surprised hurt on Dean's face, but she couldn't take it back because she realized she meant it.

Dean's expression soothed over into a distinct lack of expression as he took a step away from her. "I need to… not be here right now," he said in a choked voice.

Pansy stood awkwardly by as he hastily gathered up his art supplies without looking at her. She knew what Dean wanted to hear. "I'm sorry. Yes, of course I want to tell everyone about us. I want to hold your hand in between classes, eat meals together, and pass ridiculous notes with you. I want to be your _girlfriend_."

Her tongue was made of stone, and she said nothing.

She watched him go with a sinking feeling in her gut because how could she tell him those things? She didn't even know if she _wanted_ those things, let alone enough to take on her whole house— and she _would_ have to take on her whole house. And for what? Was it worth the pain of humiliation and ostracism just for the sake of putting public claims on each other?

The temula chirped what could have been a goodbye as she left the clearing. She barely glanced at it. Feeling raw and miserable, she made her way back to the castle.

Pansy was so lost to her thoughts that she didn't immediately notice the figure waiting for her at the bottom of the stone staircase that led down into the dungeons. Caught off guard, she drew up short.

Draco stared impassively back at her. He was leaning against a statue of Ambrose the Ambitious, but he straightened when she neared.

Pansy paused on the last step, and they regarded one another warily. She considered turning around and marching right back up the stairs, her aching calves be damned, because they weren't supposed to be speaking for a reason.

"What do you want?" she asked when the silence went on for too long.

"We need to talk."

/ / /

_Spring forward…_

/ / /

Only after her lungs were close to bursting in her chest and when she was choking on spit and phlegm did she stumble to a stop.

Bent over, she clutched her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. _Come on_, she willed to her body. _You have to keep going because… because if you don't… then_…

Merlin, how was she going to do this?

/ / /

… _(till you land)…_

/ / /

They needed to talk. Huh.

"Funny because that isn't the impression I've had. " She realized this was probably unfair of her to say when she was the one who told him to stay away. Then again, she wasn't really certain what would be fair to Draco at this point— or to her, for that matter.

"Well, you've been rather busy lately," he said evenly, "so I don't blame you for not noticing."

She crossed her arms with a resolute lift of her chin, ready for a fight, but Draco immediately dropped the bravado with a weary sigh.

"This is important."

After the scene with Dean, Pansy felt quite certain she wasn't up for another "important" discussion with Draco. Just the thought made her feel exhausted.

But something about his serious tone caught her attention, and she found herself saying, "What's wrong?"

"We need to talk _somewhere else_," he said pointedly.

Oh. "Lead the way."

She ended up having to retrace her footsteps as Draco led her back outside into the winter air. He surprised her by walking past the Forbidden Forest and then bypassing the path down to the Quidditch pitch. Instead, he headed toward the Great Lake.

Pansy struggled to keep up after having already traveled from one end of the castle to the other, but if Draco noticed her huffing and puffing, then he still took no pity on her and continued in his punishing stride. Admittedly, her curiosity was piqued.

When they reached the dock, she finally grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Hold on! Where are we going?"

Draco ignored her question. "This way."

With a long-suffering sigh, she followed him onto a long, steep path that led up a cliff side that overlooked not just the Great Lake but the entire valley. The setting sun cast an orange reflection over the newly thawed water. As annoyed as she felt, she couldn't help admiring the view.

Pansy turned back to Draco with no shortage of reluctance when she felt his eyes on her. The orange hues cast by the sunset made even Draco with his icy tones look as if he would be warm to the touch. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. "What are we doing out here? What's going on?"

Draco's response threw her for a loop. "Do you know how the Durmstrang ship got back to Bulgaria after the Triwizard Tournament?"

"No…" Pansy waited for him to make his point. When he only waited right back, she gave an irritated huff. "Draco, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Think about it," he urged. "The ship went under the water and then poof! Gone. Where did the ship go?"

"Back to Bulgaria," she said begrudgingly.

"Yes, but _how_?"

Maybe if she pinched the bridge of her nose really hard, she could stave off the headache this conversation was giving her. "I don't know, Draco, so why don't you just tell me?"

"I didn't know either," he said, clearly ignoring her disinterest, "but I wanted to find out. So, I did."

"I still don't—"

"_Think_ about it." Draco pointed out to the Great Lake. "_Look_."

Pansy made a show of groaning, but it was all a show because she was going to play along. She shrouded her eyes from the sun and squinted into the distance. The orange loch glittered at her and held its secrets. Draco wanted her to come up with a theory about how the Durmstrang ship got home, but she had never given them another thought after all those boys disappeared into the water.

She was just wondering how deep the loch went when inspiration unexpectedly struck. "A portkey!" she cried. "They put a portkey at the center of the Great Lake, didn't they?"

Draco smiled, and Pansy felt a spark of pride for having figured it out. Then, she realized something else. "That day you were soaking wet in the common room… Did you _swim_ to the bottom of the lake?"

"Top marks."

"But how? The lake has to be miles deep!"

"Gillyweed from Professor Snape's stores. Remember how Potter used it during the Triwizard Tournament?"

"I guess," she said uncertainly. She couldn't believe he had stolen from Professor Snape _again_. He was going to get himself castrated. "I don't understand why you would do all this. Were you looking for the portkey the Bulgarians used?"

"No," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "that was deactivated ages ago."

Curioser and curiouser. Pansy felt certain she was missing something here, as in why in the hell they were even having this conversation. "Damn it, Draco, either tell me what's going on or—"

It was Draco's turn to groan. "Have you always been this slow? I'm going to plant another portkey!"

Pansy's hand moved absently to her chest, where something cold had suddenly settled. "You… why?"

Draco's eyes gleamed with zeal as he babbled excitedly, "I've figured everything out. We can't get out during the regular term because they're watching our every move, and the Death Eaters can't get in because of the spells protecting the school. The protective barrier goes around the entire grounds and up for several miles to prevent people flying in _but_…" And here he smiled. "It doesn't go several miles _down_."

"But… the dungeons—"

"— don't go down that deep. I'm talking about _several_ miles down. It felt as if I was swimming for hours before I got to the bottom."

They had discussed possible methods of escape and invasion several times over the years— usually when they were bored— and someone had once suggested tunneling beneath the barrier, but no one had ever thought to _swim_ under it. Draco must have been exhausted after all that swimming. Pansy would have been terrified to swim that deep with all those creatures down there, and the farther down he got, the darker it would have become, but he _did_ it.

Shaking her head in wonderment, Pansy nearly found herself smiling back at him. "You're crazy."

"I thought you'd like that," he said, grinning.

She did for all of a second, but then all the implications came crashing down on her and then she couldn't have smiled even if she wanted to. Their proximity to the edge of the cliff suddenly made her feel dizzy, and she backed away to a safer distance.

"If I figured it out in two seconds," she said, bringing their feet back down to the ground, "then everyone else would figure it out eventually, too. They would know there was a portkey and— worse— who put it there."

"Probably," he allowed. "But by then, it won't matter."

A nervous flutter went through her belly. "What do you mean?"

When he didn't respond immediately, her nervous flutter became a monsoon. "Draco?"

Draco gave her a measuring look, and she must not have instilled much confidence because he frowned. "It won't matter if they figure out I planted a portkey," he said, "because we'll already be long gone by then."

Gone as in… gone.

Oh, Merlin, she really was slow.

Pansy didn't realize she was backing away from him until Draco grabbed her arm. "No. Not yet." Under normal circumstances, the pleading in her voice would have embarrassed her. She was too afraid to feel embarrassed.

Draco's eyes were bright and earnest as he brushed the hair out of her eyes, but his hand was shaking. "Pansy, I'm telling you this because the time for making choices and choosing sides is over. We're leaving." His voice dropped so low she could barely hear it over the whistle of the wind. "It's time to join the Dark Lord."

His hand fell on her cheek, his palm warm on her chilled skin. She shook her head in denial. "You told Theodore that leaving was a bad idea." She had felt so relieved when he agreed with her. Was that only a few weeks ago?

"Actually, I said we should stay put until the Dark Lord wanted us with him. Father warned me over the holiday that he might be summoning us sooner rather than later. Turns out he was right because he wrote me last week to say it's time. It's _time_."

With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled out of his hold. "You've known since Christmas this was coming?"

His silence was answer enough.

"Do the others know?" It would explain why Theodore had been acting guilty and suspicious lately.

"Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott know. Still not sure if Bulstrode should be given the option, all things considered…"

Pansy didn't give a fig for Millicent at the moment. She couldn't keep the betrayal from her voice. "How could you not tell me? You told those idiots, but you didn't tell _me_?"

Draco gave her a look. "We haven't been speaking, if you'll recall."

"Are you kidding me?" she cried. "This is more important than—"

"Pansy, you told me you don't believe in the cause!"

"That isn't what I said! And I didn't say what I did so you could use it against me later!"

He looked skeptical. "So you _do_ believe—?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Draco, _you_ don't really believe it! All that shite your father says—"

"_Don't_."

Feeling helpless, Pansy turned away from him and dragged frustrated hands through her shorn hair. "What about Patil?" she asked out of desperation.

He sighed and looked away. "This has nothing to do with her."

"_Nothing_?"

Draco's warning look didn't deter her at all. He was asking her to give up everything she had ever worked for, and he didn't want to talk about sacrifice? Being top of the Slytherin pyramid didn't count for much if there was no Slytherin house. She could kiss her potentially prestigious art career goodbye, not to mention her education. Professor Snape would never mentor her again, and Dean— oh, _Dean_.

"You aren't expecting to take her along, are you?" Her casual provocation was belied by the tremor in her voice. "Something tells me dear, perfect Padma would object to the Death Eater career path."

He rolled his eyes. "I am not going to talk about her with you."

"Really? You were fairly eager to share over the holiday. Something about her finally 'cracking'?"

"That was then."

She inhaled a deep lungful of freezing air to prevent screaming herself hoarse. "Ah, yes. Before you were building social bridges, kissing babies, and rescuing puppies. Oh, wait. You don't do any of those things, but Patil thinks you're _reformed_. How the hell are you going to explain to her what you're doing?"

How was she going to tell _Dean_?

"I'm not."

That took her aback. "What do you mean?"

He glared at her. "I don't have to tell her anything because I broke up with her."

For a moment, all the buzzing in her head settled into silence, and she just looked at him— _really_ looked at him. He looked sad and so tired. And that's how she knew with absolute certainty that he was serious and this was really happening.

"Why?" she croaked. "You were…" Oh, it cost her everything to say it. "… happy."

That was the worst part.

Maybe it was the cruelest thing she could have said because Draco actually had to turn away before she could see an emotion she was never meant to see slip through the cracks of his detached façade.

Pansy closed her eyes and listened to the pounding of her heart while she waited for him to get himself together. When he turned back to her, she was surprised to see that he looked more confused than distraught.

"Padma…" Draco let her name hang between them for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "She was never going to be forever."

The sadness she heard in his voice made Pansy's heart ache, and it was her turn to look away. "If she was never important, then what was the point of all this?"

He tried to scoff, but she wasn't fooled. "I never said she was important. You're the one insisting on making mountains out of molehills."

The audacity of it took her breath away. "Draco Malfoy, _don't you dare_ tell me she means nothing to you when you chose her over me and everything we are to each other."

He looked stricken. "I didn't—"

"_Yes_." She looked straight into his eyes, imagining she could bore the words straight into his brain. "You did."

Draco seemed to deflate as he said, "It wasn't like that. Not to me."

She sucked in a wet breath. "You lie like _breathing_."

"No!" He grabbed her arms as if she were going to run if he didn't anchor her there. "Merlin's beard! Is this really what you want to talk about right now?"

She tried to jerk away, but his grip only tightened. "Let _go_ of me, you—"

Draco's eyes were fever bright when he abruptly shook her. Pansy was surprised enough to stop struggling. "No!" he whispered savagely. He was so close he filled her vision. "I listened to you that day at your house, and now you have to listen to me."

_He's afraid_, she realized.

Dazed, she watched him struggle to bring his emotions under control. "Pansy, _ma chérie_," he entreated. "I want you with me. We _belong_ together. Always have, always…"

He faltered, and she felt a deep well of sadness spring from her chest. _Always will_ was on the tip of her tongue but…

"I don't know if I can do this without you," he admitted.

She didn't know if she could _let_ him do this without her, if she could let him go where she couldn't follow.

"_You'll be with me, won't you?"_

A whole year after two children sat on a staircase and discussed things they knew nothing about, things that would determine the rest of their lives, and Pansy still didn't feel ready.

She pressed her knuckles against her eyes as if she could block the whole thing out. "Draco, this is crazy."

"I know. But it is happening."

"_When_ is it happening?" How much warning did she have?

"A week."

She choked on a hysterical laugh. A week? That was all?

"I need to know if you're coming with us."

Two weeks at home, and her father barely said two words to her. If he knew this was coming, then he gave her no warning. None.

"I can't force you to come," he continued, "but I didn't want you to wake up one morning only to find all of us gone."

Gone, gone, gone… The word just kept echoing over and over in her mind. All her nightmares were coming true even though none of this was ever supposed to be _real_. Their joining the Dark Lord was supposed to stay a hypothetical scenario placed safely in the future. How could they ask her to do this? How could she not be ready even after all this time she had to prepare?

Pansy steeled herself to ask the question she had been avoiding for as long as she could remember. She couldn't look at him as she said it. "What if I said no?"

It went against every one of her instincts to push the matter, but Pansy had to know. What if she were the one to ask for a sacrifice? Despite all of their problems, she couldn't picture a life without him. She'd never wanted that. Not really.

For a brief moment, Draco's fingers tightened hard enough to bruise on her arms. Then, he was pulling away from her in more ways than one. His hands and his warmth were gone, and she was left shivering and terrified by the flash of panic she had seen in his eyes, as if she had already decided to stay. But she hadn't.

Jaw tight, Draco wrapped his arms across his chest and stared pensively down at his feet. Did he feel the cold, too? Was it the wind, or could he already feel the loss of her?

Pansy wanted to reassure him because she felt the ache, too, but she had to _know,_ and so she held her breath and waited for him to spell out her fate, which he did with reluctant yet absolute resolution.

"Then you're on your own."

/ / /

… _Now fall back (to the beginning)_

TBC…

Author's Note:

A huge thanks to all the readers still keeping up with this story. I know updates are few and far between, but I believe your commitment deserves my own commitment to finishing this story. Thank you.


	11. Last Winter Interlude

Title: _Forgivable Expectations_.

Author: Starvinbohemian (Jubilee3).

Pairings: Pansy/Draco, Pansy/Dean.

Rating: PG-13.

Chapter Summary: "I really shouldn't have to tell you that there are necessary sacrifices if you want to live this kind of life."

**/ / /**

**Forgivable Expectations**

_**Chapter 11: Last Winter Interlude**_

_"Humans have a knack for choosing precisely the things that are worst for them_._"_

— J.K. Rowling.

**/ / /**

The letter arrived during breakfast and was dropped by the owl atop her toast. The bird nipped angrily at her fingers when she tried to shoo it away without offering a treat. Birds that molted on her breakfast did not get treats.

The letter from her parents was succinct: _"Make us proud."_

The parchment dissolved in her hands into sizzling ash that fulfilled the owl's initial intent of ruining her meal.

If there were any question about her parents' feelings about her situation, then they were gone in a puff of smoke.

**/ / /**

Once Pansy had understood what she needed to do, waiting for an opportunity became the hardest part.

Her time window pretty much narrowed down to the dinner hour because it was the only meal everyone attended regularly at the same time. Pansy needed the room emptied because there was just nowhere else she could do this. She didn't want an audience.

Pansy waited until the very last minute, when Blaise was already half-out the door, before she begged off with a pretend headache. Blaise merely shrugged, her mind clearly already on her bangers and mash, and then she was gone.

Pansy closed and locked the door. Then, she began.

The room was dark except for the dim light of her wand. She could have lit the candles around the room, but something told her that this was the more authentic route. And she wanted to _see_.

Avoiding her own gaze in the full-length mirror, she pulled the dark hood up over her head until it reached her eyes. The black robe fell nearly to the floor, and she knew without looking that if not for her pale cheeks she would be just another shadow in the mirror. She had transfigured the mask from an old change purse while using a sketch she found in the restricted section as a guide. She placed it over her face.

Pansy took a deep breath and reminded herself that she needed to do this.

And then she _looked_.

This feeling… was it fear? If it was, then the mask hid it. The mask and cowl hid everything— a whole new identity that swallowed her up and transformed her into something new. Was this the person she was meant to be? Would she be strong like this?

Would anyone recognize her? Or would she become just an extension of the Dark Lord? She thought that this must be what it was to disappear behind an ideal, to become a faceless instrument of revolution. The Dark Lord's revolution. Draco's revolution. Hers?

Her hand was trembling when she reached up to tear the mask off. Yet, strangely, with the interplay of shadows across her face, it seemed to make little difference.

The Death Eater in the mirror stared back at her.

She whispered, "_Incendio_," and then watched as the corners of the mask curled up like crispy black fingers until it was nothing but ash in her hand.

**/ / /**

There was a snake on her parchment.

Pansy stared. Strange that she didn't remember sketching a snake. But there it was, right alongside her Potions notes. Its long, sinuous tail curled around her _o_'s and _q_'s. The forked tongue brushed the tip of a _T_.

A sickly knot coiled deep in her stomach. The longer she stared at it, the more the snake seemed to be _hissing_ at her.

"Ms. Parkinson?"

She pushed the parchment away with a grimace.

Draco's hand squeezed hard on her thigh.

"Ms. Parkinson!"

Startled, she looked up to see everyone turned in their seats to look at her. Professor Snape's typically pallid cheeks were tinged an irritated pink. Oops.

Her mind went blank. "Um. What?"

Several people snickered.

Pansy thought Snape looked concerned, but immediately realized it must have been just her imagination because his voice was irritated when he said, "See me after class." He turned back to the board with a dramatic swish of his robes.

Stung, she sank lower in her seat. When she looked again, the snake wasn't a snake so much as just a mess of scribbles and not even remotely alive. She was losing her mind.

Beside her, Draco tried to catch her eye. She gave his hand on her leg a pointed look, and he removed it.

Pansy couldn't remember the last time she had slept a full night's sleep. Last night had been a series of starts and stops and jerking awake in a cold sweat before she could really remember falling asleep in the first place. Everything looked distorted from the vantage point of an insomniac. Why did she even bother coming to class? What was the point?

She couldn't find one, and so Pansy did something she never would have considered doing even a few days ago.

She left class without bothering to talk to Professor Snape.

**/ / /**

Even before joining the others outside, Pansy knew it had snowed again overnight.

She was still in her pajamas when a group of early-risers came into the common room shaking ice from their shoulders and stomping their boots on the mat.

It was going to be a long winter. So much for her hopes of a thaw.

On the trail, her boots made soft impressions in the thin layer of snow on the ground. The _crunch, crunch_ sound of crushed snow beneath her feet was comforting. The cold air stung her eyes. Having wrapped her scarf so that the lower half of her face was concealed, she breathed wetly into the wool. The sky was the color of Draco's eyes.

There was excited chatter all around as they made their way down the road toward Hogsmeade. Pansy stared at her feet the entire walk into town save for a few furtive glances shot behind her. She kept expecting to be detained from the trip in punishment for blowing off Professor Snape. But it seemed that Snape hadn't so far put a block on her. She wondered at that.

Blaise walked beside her in a similar mood. "Might as well," she had said. "It's the last time, isn't it?"

The last time they would be on a Hogsmeade trip, or the last time they would all be together?

Pansy went because going promised a few hours when she wouldn't be trapped inside four thick walls and her own head. It took all of two steps before she realized that simply changing locations wasn't going to cut it.

_"I can't force you to come…"_

_ "What if I said no?"_

_"Then you're on your own."_

She tried to push the anxiety back down into the pit of her stomach where it had been residing for the past two days, but it swelled up and up until her heart was racing and she had started to sweat. Another panic attack. Pansy grit her teeth and soldiered through it.

Two days.

Two agonizing days of this.

Draco had warned her that her time for decisions was rapidly running out, but she didn't know how long she still had. Two days, and she hadn't said a word to Draco indicating one way or the other. They weren't speaking at all, technically, but she kept a close eye on his comings and goings.

Pansy was keeping a close eye on everyone. She kept expecting that if she let the lot of them out of her sight, they would all just evaporate. The uncertainty made her feel clingy. She hated feeling clingy.

Once in town, Draco immediately splintered off and went his own way. Crabbe muttered something about Honeydukes before he and Goyle changed direction toward the store. They had lost track of Raquel in the crowd. They had never bothered to keep track of Millicent. So much for together-ness.

Pansy did her best to squash the insecurities that reared their ugly heads at this forked split. She didn't exactly want to spend her afternoon avoiding eye contact with Draco anyway.

Pansy and Blaise followed the Nott siblings to the Three Broomsticks. Apparently, a lot of people had the same idea that day because there was a line of people outside that were waiting for a table.

Alyssa groaned. "Do we want to wait?"

Theodore set his shoulders stubbornly. "I don't give a flying fuck about lines. I'm going to have a butterbeer today." Something about his tone settled the matter. They joined the line.

Pansy leaned against the wall with a sigh. Theodore was probably thinking it would be his last creature comfort for a while. Maybe it would be. Who knew what the Dark Lord had in store for them?

Blaise nudged her. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She raised an eyebrow and nodded meaningfully over at Granger, who was standing nearby.

Pansy managed a weak grin. "Might as well, right?"

"One for the road," Blaise agreed.

Pansy fished around in her pocket until she found a spare button. She handed it over to Blaise, who took it and gave her wand a few surreptitious waves while keeping her eyes on Granger. Pansy took a strategic step closer so that she was at least half-obscuring Blaise's doings.

"What are you doing?" Alyssa asked.

"Hush," Pansy said.

With a last wink, Blaise merged with the crowd and temporarily dropped out of sight. Pansy leaned back against the wall and waited for the show. She didn't have to wait long.

Her smile became real when Granger's squeal rose in the air like her favorite song. Christmas came again when Granger started spinning in frantic circles and tearing at her crazy hair, trying to extract the transfigured mouse that Blaise had dropped onto her head. Blaise was openly grinning when she returned to Pansy's side.

Poor Granger was not smiling; rather, she was nearly sobbing when the mouse finally fell out of the tangled mess. The creature went scurrying off down the street. Granger's cheeks were red when she sprang around to find the source of her abuse.

When her gaze fell on Pansy and Blaise, she instinctively narrowed in on them. She shrieked, "Oh, you are just— just _horrible_!" Before they could respond, Granger went flying after the mouse, probably intending to rescue it from a hard life on the streets.

Watching her go, Pansy muttered, "She's not wrong."

Blaise just shrugged.

The only available table was in the most isolated corner of the pub. It was a bit cramped, but the segregation suited their collective mood. There might as well have been a dark cloud hanging over their table. A peel of laughter from across the room had them all sharing morose glances.

Theodore got his butterbeer. After a while, Crabbe and Goyle rejoined them with their stockpile of sweets. Crabbe muttered something about them "being for the road." Draco and Raquel never showed their faces.

Alyssa tried to fill the silence with her cheerful chatter, but Pansy mostly tuned her out. Her mind elsewhere, she let her gaze rove over the other tables. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were sitting across the room. She made a mental note of their presence and then dismissed them.

Most of the patrons in the Three Broomsticks were Hogwarts students, which was why the two incongruous men sitting at the bar caught her attention. They appeared a little worse for wear in their shabby robes. One of the men caught her eye, but he turned away immediately. She thought he might have been turning to look at _them_, but why would he do that?

Tuning back in, she realized that Alyssa must have run out of inane babble because the table had gone notably silent again. It struck her that, as last hurrahs went, they were definitely missing the mark.

And then, out of nowhere: "I want Australia."

It was such a ridiculous thing to say that she kept waiting for a clue-in to the joke, but Theodore was frowning down at his mug of butterbeer.

"What are you talking about?" Goyle finally asked. His lips smacked wetly from the honey sticks he'd bought.

"After we've taken over the world, I want Australia."

One of the men at the bar glanced over at them. Theodore hadn't even raised his voice, but Pansy couldn't shake the feeling that the man had overheard.

"It doesn't work that way," Alyssa scoffed. "You-Know-Who is not going to give you Australia."

"How would you know? Have you ever taken over the world before?"

Theodore nearly spilled his drink when Pansy grabbed his arm. "Will you kindly shut the hell up," she hissed, "before someone hears you?"

He shook her off with a sneer. "No one heard. Stop overreacting."

The men at the bar had. The taller of the two was certainly looking at them now. Why else would he be watching them? She gave Alyssa's leg a swift kick under the table for good measure. Alyssa gave Pansy a wounded look. "Ow! Why did—?"

"Because if you're going to use his most famous moniker, then you might as well just hand out announcements to everyone here about what we're talking about."

"No one is even looking at us," Blaise said to her. "You're paranoid. Get a grip." She turned back to Theodore. "Anyway, we'd have to take over _Britain_ first, and to do that…" She nodded meaningfully over Theodore's shoulder to where Potter was sitting.

Potter must have sensed their glances because he turned. Pansy's heart skipped a beat as their eyes met.

And then Potter rolled his eyes before resolutely turning his back on them. Pansy could have feigned offense, but she breathed a little easier for it.

"Didn't he used to be afraid of us?" Crabbe wondered.

"I don't think so," Alyssa said with a sympathetic pat on his arm.

The corner of Theodore's mouth turned up. "Malfoy thinks _he's_ going to be the one to take on Potter. Git. There's no way You-Know-Who would let anyone else have him. I call dibs on Weasley."

How could he be so flippant about something so serious? This wasn't just idle talk anymore. It was becoming very real very quickly. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Why not?"

"Maybe because it's morbid? Not to mention _deluded_. If you have nothing else to contribute to this conversation, then kindly shut your mouth."

"Merlin's beard," he muttered. "You've been a right bitch lately."

Pansy was already half out of her seat before she could think. "Call me a bitch again and I will—"

"_Now_ people are looking," Alyssa said anxiously. "Pansy?"

She sat reluctantly because Alyssa was right. The two strangers at the bar (among others) were openly staring now. It was stupid that she still wanted to jump over the table and claw Theodore's face when she was now just as guilty of endangering them. Her face burned. _No sleep_, she remembered.

Goyle didn't look any of them in the eye when he suddenly asked, quietly, "Is Millicent coming with us?"

That… was a good question. As far as Pansy knew, Millicent had no idea of what was going on. Of course, none of them had even thought to wonder if _Pansy_ was coming. They had just assumed. Only Draco had doubted her.

"Is that up to us?" Blaise asked. She threw a cautious glance over her shoulder to make sure people were no longer staring before she added, "Malfoy hasn't said one way or the other about it, but if the Dark Lord wants her, then… she has to come. Right?"

"Malfoy hasn't said nearly enough," Theodore muttered.

"Has anyone told him about her failing Malfoy's little loyalty test?"

That was an uncomfortable thought. "Would he even care?" Pansy wondered. "He has bigger things to consider than Millicent Bulstrode." She and Bulstrode weren't exactly the best of friends these days, but she wouldn't wish the Dark Lord's wrath on her. The very idea left a queasy feeling in her gut.

Theodore seemed less concerned for Millicent's well-being. "He should care if one of his recruits is already a bloody traitor. We thought we were doing his bidding when she ratted on us."

"But we weren't."

"She didn't know that!"

There was another factor here. Millicent hadn't told anyone yet about Dean. Pansy didn't know if her silence was due to fear or some last thread of loyalty. She'd promised that her side of the bargain would be to (more or less) keep Millicent safe. But in this case, would that mean making sure Millicent came along or making sure she didn't?

And if Pansy herself chose to stay, then would that mean spending the rest of the year with no one but Millicent Bulstrode to talk to? _Merde_.

"What are you guys bringing?" Alyssa asked nervously. "I don't really know what to pack, if anything…"

"We're not going on holiday," Pansy said, irritated. There was a headache brewing between her eyes. She really didn't want to be having this conversation.

"No, but we're going to need _clothes_."

The men at the bar were preparing to leave. The taller one threw some coins on the counter and headed for the door without looking back. After a moment, the shorter followed suit. As if there were any question they were here together.

"What are you doing?" Blaise asked.

Pansy only belatedly realized that she had stood to follow them when she looked down and saw them all looking up at her.

"Leaving," she said. "You're boring me to tears."

Fooled and yet not fooled, Theodore said in a sing-song voice, "You're going to need a stronger stomach."

She frowned. "Looking at your face has been good practice."

"Clever. You're so _clever_, aren't you, Parkinson?"

The men didn't have much of a head start on her. Yet, by the time she had gotten outside, they were nowhere to be seen.

Pansy didn't know if that made her more disappointed or relieved. She didn't know why she had followed them in the first place. There was just something… off about them. They seemed too interested. Blaise had called her paranoid. Maybe that wasn't too far off the mark.

Still. She couldn't go back inside the pub. She had to go after them if only to assuage her suspicions. She just wanted to see that they were normal men doing normal things on a random day in Hogsmeade.

Pansy picked a direction and made her way down the street. Despite the cold, people seemed excited to be outside. She narrowly dodged a flying snowball thrown by a grinning child. She left the main road after that.

There was something intrinsically _clean_ about Hogsmeade. Crisp, white snow. Happy children running about. Candy shops. Tea rooms. Friendly pubs. Dainty fences meant to keep out nothing more malevolent than a roving goat. Pansy couldn't help but think that these people hadn't learned their lessons from history, but that was an ugly thought. She hoped they wouldn't have to pay for that, hoped that war would never come to this town's pleasant bubble. It felt wrong that they had even discussing the Dark Lord here.

Her errant path took her away from the paved roads to where winter had made open fields into grand white blankets.

Pansy's feet slowed when she saw a group of Hogwarts students who seemed to be playing some kind of game on the field. They were kicking around a— what did Dean call it? A football?

As she neared, Pansy realized she actually was looking at Dean. Of course. She should just turn around and head back to the main road. She should…

Pansy lingered behind a barren tree and watched Dean kick the black and white ball across the ruined field. Ginny Weasley was trying her damnedest to take the ball from him— Pansy _thought _that's what she was doing— but Dean was too quick. His feet darted around her, quick as lightning, as if the ball were a natural extension of his feet. Pansy didn't realize, but a small smile found its way to her mouth.

Dean still wasn't speaking to her. At least, she assumed he wasn't. She hadn't exactly made any attempts to talk to him either since he had made his desire to out them perfectly clear. There were only so many things she could even say to him at this point.

Weasley's long red hair kept whipping into Dean's face. They were laughing. Pansy wasn't smiling anymore. This kind of easy flirting was what Dean had probably been aiming for when he tried to play the football with _her_. Flirting no doubt came easily to someone like Weasley.

A stiff breeze had her shivering. She tucked her hands into her pockets.

Pansy told herself she didn't have the luxury of being able to throw herself around as Weasley could, and maybe that was true.

The thought came unbidden: _For now_.

But that thought led her down a dark road she wasn't ready to seriously contemplate, and she pushed it away. Pansy could only go so far as to try imagining herself down there smiling and laughing with those people.

She couldn't. The picture wouldn't form. Anyway, smiling too much hurt her face. And she hated those people. The only people she and Dean seemed to agree on were each other.

Who were they kidding?

He wanted to tell everyone about them? Dean was being overly sentimental and willfully naïve. It wasn't fair that she had to be the bad guy because she was pragmatic enough to see the pitfalls in his idealism. Never mind the Slytherins. She could just see the expressions on his friends' faces when they found out about them.

Did Dean think Potter was just going to embrace her with open arms after everything was said and done? Unlikely. Granger? Pansy had sent her crying from enough rooms to guess the answer was a very firm, very loud _no_. Look at how Terry Boot had reacted to her, and she barely knew him from Bob.

And what about her parents? Just… no. It was impossible.

So, what were they even doing sneaking around like some ridiculous version of star-crossed lovers? Those characters always died. What had she been thinking?

She _hadn't _been thinking because Dean had a beautiful, infectious smile, and she was an idiot. A supreme idiot.

A light cough sounded behind her.

Startled from her thoughts, she turned. And stared.

With her icy complexion and fair hair that fanned out over the white fur stole on her shoulders, the woman seemed more ice sculpture come to life than an actual warm-blooded human being. Pansy thought the pale silhouette's resemblance was an illusion.

But then the illusion acknowledged her with a slight nod. "Pansy."

Her delayed realization resulted in an embarrassing gasp. "Mrs. Malfoy!"

_"What the hell are you doing here?"_ was on the tip of her tongue, but she withheld it.

Narcissa Malfoy regarded her with cool eyes and cooler expression. She looked Pansy up and down, her gaze lingering on the curled edges of short hair peeking out from beneath her wool cap.

"This is lucky. I was just discussing you with my son."

So that was where Draco had run off to. A meeting with mummy.

"I'm heading to Madame Puddifoot's for a cup of tea. Care to join me?"

As if she had a choice. "Of course."

As they left, Pansy purposely didn't look back at the field. She hadn't been doing anything wrong— she _hadn't_— but she didn't want Narcissa's attention to linger.

Narcissa surprised her by casually looping her arm through Pansy's. Her arm felt thin and brittle, as if her bones were truly made of ice. She held her all the way to the tea shop as if Pansy might bolt in the other direction if she weren't tethered to Narcissa's side. It wasn't a completely crazy notion.

Narcissa naturally drew stares when she entered the tea room. She gave no sign of noticing. Pansy felt far from empowered trailing behind in her shadow.

When the hostess tried to seat them, Narcissa only had to raise a single eyebrow and the hostess, blushing and stammering, redirected them to a better table near the window. Their orders came in record time.

Pansy had to wonder what it was like to so easily wield control over others. Some days, it felt as if she had to bite, kick, and scream to be taken seriously. No one respected her just on instinct. Why should they?

The silence was awkward. Pansy did her best not to squirm. Narcissa's gaze drifted around the room, never finding anything worthy of landing on for long.

For lack of anything else to say, Pansy finally asked her, "Did you have a nice visit with Draco?"

"Of course," she said. "Our conversation was very... interesting." She eyed Pansy over the rim of her teacup. If Narcissa was waiting for Pansy to ask how she figured into this _interesting _conversation, then she was waiting in vain. Pansy knew better.

"I can't wait to tell my mother that I ran into you," she said instead, feigning a smile. "She's mentioned how... _busy _you've been lately." Too busy snubbing Violet to give her the time of day.

Narcissa took her volley with grace, not batting an eye. "Do send her my best."

Pansy's smile became wry. Merlin help her, but she just couldn't hate Narcissa Malfoy. Not even with the fresh holiday memory of her mother drunkenly reeling from Narcissa's latest rejection could she hate her. Pathetic and desperate, Violet had driven her humiliation into Pansy's skin until it felt like her own. As angry as it made her, Pansy couldn't help but think in her heart of hearts that somehow this was their faults for not making par with Narcissa's expectations.

Narcissa had always been her idol. She had also always terrified her. Pansy had an unfortunate tendency to idolize, well, terrifying people. Narcissa was a creature carved from diamond and ice, come alive just to remind Pansy that she would never measure up. She effortlessly embodied all the qualities Pansy struggled to emulate. How could she not admire that?

"You're about to be very _busy _yourself, no?"

Of course Narcissa would know. Pansy suspected that there was very little about Draco that Narcissa didn't know. "So I hear."

Narcissa studied her with keen eyes. "I'm glad to hear it. Draco implied that you were feeling somewhat ambivalent about accompanying him on his… _travels_."

Pansy felt herself go light-headed as the scales tipped entirely in Narcissa's favor. She wanted nothing more than to look away from that scrutinizing stare, but she didn't dare. She knew, absolutely _knew_, Draco would never tell his mother about her having doubts. But he must have said something for Narcissa to imply…

"I would hate to think of Draco being abroad without you."

"Would you?" she asked, curious. Narcissa had never given her the impression that she gave her two thoughts when she wasn't right in front of her (if even then).

Narcissa smiled. "You and my son speak French together, no?"

"_Oui_," she said reluctantly. The question sounded innocent, but in Pansy's experience sudden conversational diversions were traps.

"Of course. Your parents made sure you learned French because they foresaw a future for you with us, didn't they?"

It was a trap all right. Pansy added a spoonful of sugar to her tea and said nothing.

"A prudent idea, if presumptuous."

Before Pansy could defend her _presumptuous_ parents, Narcissa added, "My parents did the same once."

Had they? That was… interesting.

"Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the last Malfoy to be truly fluent in French was Draco's great-grandfather, Sulla."

A bomb casually delivered. Pansy's mouth fell open.

"My husband has no interest in that aspect of his heritage. A pity. I've done my best to right that with Draco, but it is what it is."

It was what it was? Over the years, Pansy had given more time and effort to her French instruction than she had to any single subject at Hogwarts. And all because Narcissa Malfoy had once made an offhand comment to Pansy's mother about how the Malfoys only spoke French at home— something about romantic languages, respecting one's heritage, and blah— blah— apparently a huge bloody lie.

Violet should have known better. Yes, she should have known better because the Malfoys might have acted like visiting royalty, but in reality they were just as common as the rest of them. Her mother was a moron, and Pansy was a moron for letting her do it. She was so embarrassed she could hardly speak.

Okay, maybe she could hate Narcissa. Maybe a little. Maybe _a lot._

Anger buzzed between her ears like a swarm of bees. It was a miracle her voice came out as steady as it did. "If my parents thought there was a future, then I'm sure someone gave them cause."

Narcissa raised a delicate eyebrow at Pansy's tone, but she was too upset to be cowed. Had it all been a big joke? Drop the bait and then stand back and watch the monkeys dance?

"Don't you think?" Pansy pressed.

Narcissa held her challenging stare, her expression smooth except for where her mouth twitched in either amusement or irritation. "Perhaps."

"Yeah. _Perhaps_."

Had Draco known? He knew Pansy's parents had set up the French lessons to impress his parents. Pansy wracked her brain to remember if she had ever specifically asked if he spoke only French at home. She couldn't remember. But it had been ten years. There was no way it had never come up in _ten bloody years_. Humiliation and betrayal were familiar to her, but they suddenly felt fresh out of the box.

She was going to throttle him.

Her spoon slipped against the porcelain teacup. The sound of ringing porcelain drew Narcissa's eyes like a beacon. Pansy's hand wouldn't stop trembling, and it only got worse under Narcissa's victorious gaze. Giving up, she dropped the hand clutching her spoon onto the table.

She jumped when Narcissa touched her offending hand. "Are you all right, dear?" She was the very picture of sympathetic.

As if there were any doubt, Narcissa's small white hand atop of hers marked her complete defeat. It was sobering if unsurprising. The heat of her anger fizzled, leaving her feeling drained and resentful.

"Perfectly all right," she said quietly. "Why do you ask?"

Narcissa's teeth flashed in a brilliant smile. She removed her hand.

"Do you remember the time you and Draco stole my wand and blasted my flower beds?"

Another surprise diversion. "I… yes?" Pansy didn't know what she had been expecting from this conversation, but the circles were making her dizzy.

"To this day, nothing will grow in that spot."

They had been seven-years-old.

Pansy couldn't help rolling her eyes. It meant officially forfeiting the game of feigned civility, but she was ready to forfeit. Game over, now kindly fuck off. "Have you been waiting all this time for an apology?"

"Draco has always maintained that it was your idea."

"Your son is a gifted liar," she said grimly.

"Yes, he is."

It was the last thing she expected to hear Narcissa admit.

"I remember when you were both children," she said, unsmiling, "and Draco used to cry so fitfully when you left after a visit. I had to promise him over and over that you'd be back. It was as if someone had taken a favorite toy from him. Rather ridiculous."

Pansy had never known about the fits. She didn't know what to say about them now.

"I know you and my son had some sort of disagreement over the holidays. I trust that has been cleared up by now?"

Narcissa knew damn well that it hadn't. She knew everything, remember? Pansy unclenched her jaw in order to say, "Your son and I are not speaking at present."

"That's unfortunate," she said. "In times such as these, it's important to keep your friends close. People you trust. People you love."

Pansy frowned down at her teacup.

"It's also important to keep an eye on your investments."

Investments? She could tell Narcissa was hinting around something, was maybe even going easy on her, but Pansy wasn't about to ask. She didn't want to play anymore. What she did want was to be out of this conversation and out of this tea room. She wanted to curse something into a thousand pieces, preferably Draco.

Her resistance must have been clear because Narcissa sighed. Setting her tea cup down on the table with a definitive clink, she asked, "Pansy, may I be frank with you?"

Maybe she wasn't the only one ready to drop the mask. It was a pretty thought. Skeptical, she said, "Oh, do."

"Your mother is a twit."

Her mouth fell open a second time in surprise. Of all the bloody nerve. "You…"

"But I don't think you are. Are you a twit, Pansy?"

She had to loosen each of her fingers from the teacup's handle before saying, "No. I'm _not_."

"Contrary to what your parents clearly believe, Lucius and I would never force Draco into anything he didn't want to do."

"I have no trouble believing _that_."

"We encouraged him to explore his options. But for whatever reason, it's always been you. At age 7, there was the little witch with mud on her knees leading my son into trouble. The playmate with the embarrassing parents and no real connections to speak of, and yet also the one Draco inexplicably couldn't live without."

Pansy pressed her lips together and did her best not to cry. She'd known, had always known how Narcissa really felt beneath that thin veneer of civility, but…

"You, you, always you. And now here we are." Was it wishful thinking, or did Narcissa sound a tad bitter?

She wasn't the only one. "Yes, well," Pansy said, throat gone tight. "Me and everyone else."

Narcissa shrugged. She finally looked just as weary of this conversation as Pansy felt. "I really shouldn't have to tell you that there are necessary sacrifices if you want to live this kind of life."

Once, Pansy had thought her sacrifices would be rewarded with the high-trimmed hedges of Malfoy Manor, along with the obscene water fountain, those ridiculous albino peacocks, the diamond-paned windows, and the fine furniture. She had imagined herself gliding through the long halls, every bit as elegant as Narcissa Malfoy, special enough to belong there. All of that seemed like a foggy dream now.

It was strange to realize how little she had left to lose at this point. None of the things she had ever planned for or wanted were ever going to happen, not if she let Draco disappear into the ether, not if she gambled her entire future on Lord Voldemort and lost. Not if Narcissa really hated her this much.

Narcissa was gambling, too, she realized. Draco was her pride and joy. The idea of him leaving the safety of Hogwarts for the dangerous life of a Death Eater must have been killing her.

What was really happening here?

She posed the same question to mother as she had to son: "And what if I can't do it?"

For the first time that Pansy could ever remember, she saw something like fear on Narcissa's face.

"You can and you will."

She sounded so certain that Pansy had to wonder why she couldn't feel just as convinced.

Narcissa must have read the question on her face because she said, "If you're experiencing cold feet, then I suggest you procure a warmer pair of socks. Because if there is anything anyone knows about you, Pansy Parkinson, then it's that you love my son— without anything resembling pride."

Her voice dropped low, clearly meant only for Pansy to hear. No one was looking at them, but you didn't need eyes to eavesdrop. "Now is not the time to suddenly grow a backbone. Not when the stakes are so high. Not when Draco is going to need you now more than ever. Could you live with yourself if something happened to him and you weren't there?"

Could she?

"I won't insult you by lying. I think you know that you're hardly my first choice, but Draco trusts you and I… I need him to be safe. When it comes down to it, I want you at his back because you're the only one I can trust not to put a knife through it. Protect my son, Pansy. Keep him safe. I'll make sure you never regret it."

Here, finally, was the closest she would ever get to having Narcissa on her knees. A pleasure long delayed. There were so many things Pansy could say. Horrible, vindictive, _satisfying_ things.

Even she was surprised by what actually came out of her mouth. "Mrs. Malfoy, do you regret raising your son to this point? To the point where you actually _need_ me?"

Narcissa glared at her.

"Do you wish you had kept him safe? So you wouldn't have to ask me?"

Narcissa's lip curled disdainfully. "It's so easy to judge other women for the choices they make. But believe me when I tell you that I had no choice, no say in the decisions that led us all here. If I had, then we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Or _any_ conversation."

"Your sister believed there was a choice."

It was worth it to see the color, little that there was, drain from Narcissa's face.

Presumptuous? Pansy preferred _prepared_. It hadn't all been passive reception on her part. Narcissa's sister and her _marriage_ were public record. The Malfoys could continue paying a small fortune to keep that particular dirty laundry out of the papers, but they couldn't erase the eighteen years that came before the fall, when Andromeda Black had been a regular fixture in the society pages right alongside her illustrious parents and beautiful sisters. As public as public got.

After the war, no one cared about a former socialite from a fallen family, and Andromeda's name hadn't appeared in print since before Pansy was born. But it wouldn't take much to make the right (wrong) people care again. Narcissa understood that. So did Pansy.

"I don't discuss my family," Narcissa said. Her eyes were daggers. "You would do well to never mention that person again."

Pansy pushed her teacup away and stood. They were done here.

"She had a choice. _You_ had a choice. _I_ still have a choice."

"Unfortunately."

Pansy had to appreciate the sheer gall. She really did.

She walked out.

**/ / /**

The men were waiting for her outside the tea shop.

They had kept their distance, choosing a shop across the street for their stakeout. They could have been any pair of men enjoying a casual smoke between shifts. When they saw her, Tall and Short gave up their spot and started moving down the street. Short turned down an alley. Tall hesitated at the mouth, made sure she was still watching, and then he, too, disappeared down the rabbit hole. Casual as can be.

Against all reason, Pansy followed.

The men hadn't gone far. Likely because they were waiting for her. They watched her approach with even expressions. Tall tipped his hat to her. "Miss."

Pansy had no fear left to spare for them, and so she came right out with it.

"Why are you following me?"

Short had small rheumy eyes. He tapped his nose and winked at her. "Never mind us. Just protecting an investment."

**/ / /**

It was obvious that the man was about to roll up his sleeve. Her heart jumped up into her throat_. Don't_, she thought.

Before Pansy could stop him, they were all startled by an approaching voice. "Hey! _Hey_!"

They scattered like rats. Pansy jumped away from the likely Death Eaters at the same time that they took off running in the opposite direction. Fight or flight. Whether due to fear or caution, they flew.

She wished she could run away, too, when Dean came to a skidded stop beside her. This was just not shaping up to be her day.

Dean seemed torn between seeing to her and pursuing the men. Apparently deciding, he took hold of her arms and looked her over anxiously. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

_Really not_, she thought. Rather than look him in the eye, Pansy stared at where his hand gripped her arm. "'Course," she croaked. Of all the times for him to show up…

"Were they bothering you?"

If he had to ask, then she was really off her game. But after both Death Eaters and Narcissa Malfoy in the same afternoon, it shouldn't be a surprise if her nerves were a bit frayed.

"What? No. Of course not." Remembering herself, she shook him off, stepping out of his hold.

He clearly didn't believe her. "What did they want?"

Despite the cold, she could feel herself begin to sweat. "You scared them off before they could ask. Something about directions?"

"In a dark alley?" Dean's eyes narrowed at her. "What was that guy showing you?"

Bloody damn shit. She tried to laugh, to look unfettered and innocuous, but the laugh caught in her throat and became a cough. "He wasn't… I didn't see…"

"He was trying to show you something on his arm." She could practically see the dots connecting in his brain. He might not have been as obvious about it as someone like Granger, but Dean was proving himself to be a very bright boy indeed.

"Pansy, did you know them?"

Too bright. Why would he ask her that? What had she done to…? "Don't be silly!"

She must have given something away, because Dean's face fell. "You did, didn't you?"

The irony here was that she actually didn't know them. But the truth felt like a lie.

"Pansy?"

If he wasn't going to let her lie, then what did he want her to say? "_Sorry, darling, they're Death Eaters that Draco's mother probably hired to keep an eye on the junior Death Eaters—that would be me, obviously— to make sure that Draco has enough human shields to take a curse for him in the war we're all going to wage on you and everyone you care about. You understand, of course_"?

She would tell him the truth, and he would turn away from her, maybe even turn her in to Dumbledore or Potter or whoever was in charge of the tide of moral authority these days. This was the kind of thing that could never stay buried between them.

Pansy couldn't tell him the truth, and Dean wasn't buying her lies. There was no option left other than self-incriminating silence.

She never should have followed the men without first checking to see if anyone was following _her_. Narcissa probably wouldn't have been so keen on Pansy watching out for Draco if she had seen this shining example of incompetence.

"Pansy, what are you even _doing_ here?"

She wished she knew.

"Sneaking off to meet with shady characters in dark alleys? That sounds like something Malfoy would do."

"So now I'm sneaking off? You made that flip rather quick. Thanks for the benefit of the doubt, Thomas!"

"But that _is_ what you're doing, isn't it?"

She glared at him. "Anyway, you have no idea what Draco would or wouldn't do."

She had meant for it to hurt, with the intentional implication of _but I do_ hanging between them, but she didn't enjoy the stricken look on his face. She just wanted him to back off.

"I don't care what _he_ does," he muttered. Dean shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding his shoes fascinating or else he just didn't want to look her in the eye while he asked what he clearly wanted to know.

"They looked like… Are they…?"

He wouldn't actually say it aloud, would he? She stepped back. "Please, don't..."

Dean gave her an incredulous look. "'Please, don't?' Do you have any idea how this looks?"

She had a pretty good idea.

Damn but he looked disappointed in her. "You realize this is what everyone expects, don't you? That this is why no one trusts your house?"

It wasn't a good idea to provoke Dean any further, but Pansy couldn't help it. She snorted. "Because we talk to strangers? Do _you_ know how paranoid you sound? What exactly do you think I was doing?"

"I… don't know." He set his chin stubbornly. "But I know it was _something_ because you look like you want to jump out of your skin."

Pansy rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "You just accosted me in a _dark alley_ and started accusing me of… I don't know what. I'm allowed to be unnerved."

She _was_ unnerved. By everything. Would this day never end?

Dean was watching her. "Pansy..."

"What?" she asked grumpily.

He crossed the small distance she had put between them and touched her arm. "Come here."

"No," she said, eying him warily. She took a few more steps back. "Stay there."

Dean shook his head and stomped over to her. Gripping her shoulder, he leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Were they trying to recruit you?"

Bright, bright boy.

What had she done?

Pansy laughed helplessly into his shoulder. "Recruit me?" she murmured. "Recruit me for what?" If he would just say it… she didn't know what. Maybe she would be honest for once.

Probably not.

"For…" His finger wrapped around one of the curls that had escaped her cap. He gave the lock a gentle tug. It seemed he couldn't bring himself to say it, to make it real.

Pansy sighed and leaned into him. She might have missed him a little.

She gave herself a few moments, and then Pansy reluctantly pushed him back. "Dean, just… go back to your football game."

"No."

"You have no idea what's happening."

"Tell me."

He would find out eventually. Everyone would. But not until it was too late to stop them.

_Them_ as in _us_ as in _her_.

She had probably left Narcissa with the implication that she wouldn't be going with them. But, now that she was standing there with Dean, she couldn't really see herself _not_ going. She was so tangled up in them all, with the Slytherins, the Malfoys, the Dark Lord… Who was she without them?

Pansy smiled sadly. "You want so badly to save me, don't you? You don't know from what, but you want to save me."

A steel undercurrent entered his voice. "Yes. I do. That's why I have to do this."

It was her only warning before his firm grip clamped onto her arm. Before she knew it, she was being pulled from the alley and out onto the street. The sunlight blinded her.

At first, Pansy was too surprised to do anything but try to keep up so she wouldn't trip over herself. But when he didn't stop, when they came to the main street and people were starting to turn and look at them, she began struggling. Was he crazy?

"Let me go!" she demanded. Pansy tried to drag her feet, but she was no match against his pull.

Dean ignored her. He dragged her all the way back to the Three Broomsticks. People stared at them. Too many people. There were Hogwarts students everywhere. They were exposed, and Dean was pulling her around like a mull.

"People are _looking_," she hissed.

"That's the idea!"

It… was?

The bottom fell out of her stomach.

No.

"No."

Then, louder: "_No_!"

"Yes."

Pansy twisted frantically in his hold, hissing and spitting with all the ineffectual fury of a wet cat. "You're a lunatic!" she yelled.

"Probably."

He caught her off guard again when he suddenly stopped and sprung her around, pulling her in so she was crushed against his chest. She had all of a second to blink, shocked, up at him, and then Dean played his gambit.

Before all and sundry, Dean kissed her.

**/ / /**

AN: I just want to thank everyone who has stayed with this story throughout all the years. Your continued devotion has baffled and humbled me. We're nearing the end now. Thank you so much.


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